


The Lost Kingdom

by KiaMianara



Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Atlantis AU, BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo is Milo, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Some Humor, Thorin is Kida, but not to much, more drama and angst than you expect, the others fall into place as they will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaMianara/pseuds/KiaMianara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding Erebor had never been Bilbo’s life goal; it had been his parents’, so, really, he had absolutely not expected to get roped into joining an expedition to find the Lost Kingdom and most certainly hadn’t he expected to succeed and run into the most grumpy yet strangely charming of all kings. It sounded like one of the penny dreadful he most definitely hadn’t fancied in his youth and never ever imagined for himself, but he would still like to point out that neither the booklets nor his fantasy had ever featured an active volcano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bagginshield Atlantis!Dwarrow](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/35582) by Ewe. 



> So, I found this Hobbit-Atlantis-Crossover picture-thing over at ewe’s tumblr account and, long story short, I had no one to talk me out of this.
> 
> First of: this will NOT be a word by word retelling of Atlantis just with other characters. I will take some liberties in all direction for different reasons. I’m probably putting way too much effort into this, but I feel the need to explain my train of thoughts to you.
> 
> I wondered about is where the blazes the Shepard’s Journal came from. How could someone before Plato (who lived around 400 BC) have found an entrance that lies under water and is guarded by a giant lobster, reach Atlantis and then actually leave again and write a book about it in the language of Atlantis.  
> Actually I think I found a brilliant solution for that if I do say so myself, and it will come up later in the story
> 
> Talking about Plato brings me to the location of Atlantis. In general everyone seems to agree that Atlantis, if it existed, must have been an island in the Atlantic Ocean (hence the name) and was inhabited by an ancient but highly developed civilisation. Disney added that said civilisation vanished around 8000 BC from the surface, because they waged war against someone and used that crystal-thing as a weapon. That leads us to following problems:  
> 8000 BC the only civilisations worth mentioning were in the lands around the River Nile in Egypt and the so called Fertile Crescent, meaning between the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates in Mesopotamia (that’s Iraq and Syria today), as well as South America. Problem is, they all had only just started with agriculture and ceramic production. In short: there wasn’t anyone around for the people of Atlantis to wage war, much less `use the Heart of Atlantis as a weapon´ against.  
> There was no way for me to make that at least historically probable. I know it’s a fanfiction, based on a fictional movie based on a (so far) unproven legend, so I throttled my inner perfectionist until we reached a compromise.  
> My Atlantis/Erebor was an island in the Mediterranean Sea, because that’s the only way I can imagine Plato could have heard about it and I believe that’s the place with the highest chance of encountering another culture.
> 
> Last but not least the setting of the story, time wise. The movie starts in 1914 in Washington DC were Milo works as a linguist and cartographer in the Smithsonian Institution. Dunno how fit you are in history, but let me give you a few facts about that time.  
> In the United States in 1914 the life expectations for men were between 50 and 55 years, not accommodating for the start of World War I. Women rights ... well, they were working on that. Some states allowed them to vote, some didn’t yet, but as there are only very few women in this story (blame Tolkien for that) I won’t go into detail about that here.  
> Gay rights ... didn’t exist. I read something about sentences of 4 to 20 years if found `guilty´. I can’t find the source anymore and I’m pretty sure getting locked up was the least of your problems then.  
> The concept of `childhood´ is still rather new around that time and, though there are laws about the minimum age for child labour, they are inconsistent (varying around 14 and 16, depended on the kind of work and the state) and in the end as a child you only had the rights your parents or legal guardians granted you. In rural areas you were a work force the moment you could walk and in what I believe is the upper middle class parenting methods were something between `seen but not heard´ and `no display of affection in any form´. So, basically you can say _everyone_ is traumatised, but no one noticed as they went though the same shit. I’m not saying there was no affection or no loving families as we understand it today, but it wasn’t the norm by any stretch of imagination.  
>  I tell you this because there will be characters in this story that are technically underage by today’s laws. Nothing specific is mentioned, but I wanted you to be aware what “set in 1914” means.
> 
> Now, enjoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, I’m not scared, Mister Greybeard, not at all, but the anser is still no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been beta-read by [akblake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/akblake) at one point. However, I haven’t heard from her in over a year and since then I also got better at English and rewrote a few parts. I’m still grateful for her help, though, so it's only fair I mention it.

* * *

 

Bilbo Baggins certainly didn’t look like your stereotypical heroic adventurer, nor an ordinary or even realistic adventurer either. No, he looked entirely the way an underappreciated employee of the museum’s department for translation and archiving (though it officially ran under a fancier name for the sponsors) that he fancied himself to be, much loved suspenders and cardigan notwithstanding. He was short, a bit soft around the middle and his hair was in a constant state of curly disarray that he couldn’t do anything against.

 

No, Bilbo Baggins didn’t look like an adventurer at all and was mighty glad of it, because he didn’t want to be one either. Maybe he had had that spark of adventuring in his youth, when he still had tried to gain the attention and approval of his parents, but he had grown out of that long before growing into his limbs.

 

The few times he had seen his parents, they had always been talking about Erebor, the Lost Kingdom, as if it was real and not an absolute myth. Their claims had earned them laughter and ridicule and, as the easier and only available target, it had always been unleashed onto Bilbo although he had thought it just as ridiculous an idea as his tormentors. It had ruined his parents’ careers and almost ended his own as well. Not that his was a career worth mentioning, but it paid the bills with a bit left for an indulgence or, heaven forbid, an emergency.

 

The linguist would admit, though only under force and very reluctantly, that even now he still might harbour a certain morbid fascination with the topic, as others would with deadly animals, but ...

 

Gandalf Greybeard was an old friend of his mother’s, or at least the other. Bilbo couldn’t remember ever hearing his name before, though that didn’t say much considering how little time he had actually spent with his mother. The book the older man revealed, however, made it easy to ignore that little doubt. The `Journal of the Hobbit´, though why the author was referred to as such was unknown, was filled with detailed drawings and runes of the likes Bilbo had never seen before and that had to mean something considering he could write and speak enough languages, both dead and alive, to find his way through every country on this planet if he would ever feel inclined to travel.

 

It woke a dark greed in him. He wanted the journal, be the first and only to decipher it and on any other day the linguist would have killed (metaphorically; he despised violence) to get his hands on these pages, a chance like this, but ...

 

The book was authentic, he didn’t need any scientific experiments to tell him that, and he didn’t need to translate it to recognise that it contained coordinates and landmarks leading to the legendary Lost Kingdom of Erebor, though he put every emphasis on `legendary´, as it was probably based on some small kernel of truth which had been embellished over the years. To some this kernel was more than enough and Mister Greybeard even offered to pay for the whole expedition. He had already prepared a ship and a crew, everything they could possibly need, with one exception. He still needed a linguist, the best, which was where Bilbo was supposed to come in.

 

It was a good offer; would have likely convinced someone even less enthusiastic about the whole Erebor business than Bilbo if such a person existed, but ...

 

“No.”

 

If it would have been such a serious matter, seeing Mister Greybeard choke on his pipe might have been a bit amusing, but it _was_ serious and Bilbo generally found no joy in the ills of others. He liked to think of himself as a better person than that.

 

“My dear boy, I know this is all very sudden and the prospect of an adventure might scare you, but ...”

 

“Oh, I’m not scared, Mister Greybeard, not at all, but the answer is still no. You will have to find another linguist for this. If you give me a few days I might be able to give you a list of likely candidates, but I am most certainly not available. Now, I’m not fond of your assistant’s driving style, but if it gets me back home fast, I’ll be quite happy to put up with it again. Thank you for the tea and good luck with the expedition. The door was this way, yes? It’s quite late and I absolutely cannot have my son arrive to an empty flat.”

 

“Your ... your son?”

 

“Yes, my son. He’s a good lad and really smart when he wants to be, but also a bottomless pit. Why, he must be downright starving after his own little adventure and I really ought to start cooking.”

 

Mister Greybeard actually paled and swallowed dryly.

 

“You have a son.”

 

“I have, yes. Took me forever to convince him that just because he goes on a field trip, our home and I won’t just vanish and I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t stand me up a liar, and get me home before him.”

 

“Bilbo, lad, you ... you might want to sit back down.”

 

Bilbo did, though with growing dread, and listened calmly as Mister Greybeard admitted that he had not expected this, not from Belladonna’s and Bungo’s son, and had already prepared everything and not just regarding the expedition. He had, in fact, been so sure Bilbo would not hesitate to take this offer that he’d had his employment and the rental contact of his flat terminated, as well as stopped the gas, electricity and even the newspaper subscription. He had been very thorough in dismantling Bilbo’s life and all with the very best intentions, of course.

 

When the older man was done, Bilbo nodded slowly, put down his teacup and folded his hands in his lap.

 

“So, what you are telling me is that as of today I’m unemployed and that my boy and I are homeless, because you had the unfounded assumption I might agree to this ... this _madness_?”

 

“Bilbo ...”

 

“No! You will not speak to me. You destroyed everything I built up for myself, for us, all in the inane presumption I’d be as batty as Belladonna and Bungo and go running off after a most likely fictional kingdom under the ocean. That _is_ madness and you have no right to be so familiar with me! You don’t know me and I most certainly don’t know you and don’t wish to. You are a horrible, _horrible_ person. Do you actually _enjoy_ ruining people’s lives? Well, congratulations! Two in one go; you must feel quite accomplished.”

 

“No, I ... you could ...” Mister Greybeard started, fishing for words, but Bilbo was furious and only just beginning to work himself into a right fit and stood from his chair.

 

“Could do what? Leave the lad, leave _my son_ with relatives who wouldn’t want him even if they knew of his existence? Leave him to forever wonder what he has done to be punished so, and if I will ever return, as has been done to me?” he snapped enraged. “I was abandoned, unwanted, and certainly didn’t need the other children to tell me that. If you had paid attention to _anything_ in my life beside the unfortunate circumstances of my parentage, you would know that I try everything in my might to be _nothing_ like the one who bore me of the one who _probably_ sired me. I will absolutely not let _my_ child suffer like that, least of all for _their_ stupid legacy which no one gives a damn about! Nothing is more important in my life than my son and thanks to you we now truly have nothing but each other. Oh, how am I to tell him? My poor boy; he will be so scared and I have nothing to comfort him.”

 

“I was going to suggest that you could take him along. There is enough space for one more and the team ...”

 

Bilbo didn’t hear anymore what `the team´ would or would not think or do, his ears ringing with the reality of his situation and the endless possibilities of how his boy could come to harm as his mind slowly drifted towards darkness.

 

“Nope” the small man finally concluded and fainted dead where he stood.

 

*~*~*~*

 

“If my boy doesn’t agree to this madness, you fix the mess you created and leave us alone, forever. If he agrees, and if the gods are truly just and merciful, he won’t, you make sure that the lad’s education will be guaranteed, no matter how the expedition goes.”

 

“Bil- Master Baggins, you have my word, and my signature, on that.”

 

Bilbo nodded grimly, still shaken to the core. The hastily-written but legal document stating these terms, signed by them both and a lawyer Bilbo had picked at random out of the phone book, was the main reason he was anything resembling calm, but it was a close thing. Then he added, “If my son comes to any harm, I will find a way to pay you back tenfold,” before he slipped out of the car and approached a group of young men. One with wild dark hair separated from the group and hurried towards the smaller man, bending down and hugging him with the awkwardness of one not yet fully grown into their limbs, but with much more enthusiasm than most children on the verge of maturity were wont to display in public, even if they were allowed to.

 

“Hello, my lad. How was your trip?”

 

“It ... it was nice, but I missed you. Is everything alright? You look pale and didn’t we agree I’d come home on my own?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine, really, but there’s been a pipe burst, so we will have to stay with an acquaintance for a few days. He lives a good deal out of the way, so I took a few days off and we can spend the time together. What do you say? Sound good? Come, I will introduce you” Bilbo said softly and let the younger hold his hand. He hated lying to the lad, but in this case it was truly for the best. Everything was better than telling the boy they were homeless and he was on relatively friendly terms with everyone in the house. If necessary he would likely have no problems convincing them to play along.

 

By the car Mister Greybeard looked for all the world as if he wanted to comment either on having expected a much younger child or the complete lack of any family resemblance between them but their untameable hair. However, a single glare from Bilbo told him in many colourful words that he was in no position to question anyone’s life choices, least of all theirs.

 

“Now, my lad, this is Gandalf Greybeard. He has an ... _offer_ for us. I want you to listen carefully and tell me honestly what you think of it. Mister Greybeard, this is my son, Kíli Baggins.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume a lot of people won't exactly like me for what I did with Belladonna and Bungo, but, well, I did mention more drama, didn't I? 
> 
> As implied in the story notes in 1914 the concept of `childhood´ was still rather new and, though there were laws about the minimum age for child labour, they are inconsistent (varying between 14 and 16, depended on the kind of work and the state) and in the end as the children only had the rights their parents or legal guardians granted them. In rural areas they were a work force the moment they could walk and in what I believe is the upper middle class parenting methods were something between `seen but not heard´ and `no display of affection´ and it wasn’t much better between married couples. I’m not saying there was no affection at all or no loving families as we understand it today, but in average it was not nice.
> 
> Also, according to my upbringing when you introduce two people to each other the polite thing to do is to formulate it so that the older or higher ranking person knows the name of the younger or lower ranking person first and thus has a the advantage in case you are being interrupted. I think it’s also so that if both are of equal rang and age, the woman is supposed to have the advantage over the man, but I’m not entirely certain about that part. What I’m trying to say is that Bilbo is being insulting here on purpose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had survived the Leviathan; now they only had to survive eachother.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, papa.”

 

“Kíli, my lad, as long as you didn’t prank Commander Smaug or Azog, I’m certain we can fix whatever it is” Bilbo replied, patting the head on his lap comfortingly. The younger had been considerable fine on the ship; less so on the submarine, but still well enough to switch the slides in Bilbo’s presentation. That he had not once left his father’s side since the Leviathan and been in almost constant contact with him in one way or the other would have been an expected reaction if they would have expected a giant mechanical lobster to begin with. Still, the linguist would gladly sacrifice his remaining dignity and save his charge from Smaug’s wrath if only it would mean Kíli was at least remotely comfortable, as the lad only caused mischief when he felt safe. When he didn’t, well, this happened. Also, the ground was too cold and not entirely dry enough for Kíli to sit on, but Bilbo just didn’t have the heart yet to chase the lad from his side even if just to fetch a blanket or pillow. Kíli was not the only one drawing comfort from the closeness.

 

“About listening to Mister Greybeard. We should have stayed at home.”

 

Yes, they should have, but Bilbo would never say that out loud. He would, however, give Mister Greybeard a good kicking for making Kíli believe he would do his father a favour with agreeing to this mad quest if they ever saw him again.

 

When, not if. He had to think positive, but he certainly didn’t need favours and `chances of a lifetime´. He needed his son happy and safe, preferable both at the same time, which was the opposite of marching through some underground tunnels, unable to contact anyone on the surface, with a group of armed strangers that, if he was honest with himself, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to trust further that he could throw Azog, which is to say not at all.

 

Some of them were alright, he assumed, but since they could be labelled as adventurers Bilbo had chosen not to mingle more than he absolutely needed to and Azog he avoided actively and with great dedication. The scar covered man had the bearings of a typical thug, but the cliché of lacking brain certainly didn’t fit him. In fact, the linguist feared his mind more than his muscles, though not nearly as much as Smaug. They both must have been in some kind of military organisation at one point, but Azog wore his bad character in the open and was thus predictable to an extent. Smaug on the other hand ... Smaug was perfectly polite, composed and carried himself with dignity and purpose, but something in his eyes and the way most flinched back whenever he was near that made Bilbo wary enough he was inclined to invent a new word for it.

 

Yes, they really should have stayed at home, but it couldn’t be helped now.

 

Pushing the books and papers – the `Journal of the Hobbit´ was written in a language Bilbo had never encountered before and required more than just his knowledge to translate. Sadly instead of a much appreciated challenge it had become a chore now – a bit away so they would not end up scattered all over the place, Bilbo slid off the rock he had used as a substitute chair and pulled Kíli’s forehead against his.

 

“None of this is your fault.”

 

“But ...”

 

“No. None of this is your fault. Mister Greybeard got a silver tongue and would have talked or tricked us into this either one way if only to cover his own mistakes. Everything else was completely out of your hands. He used your good heart against us and it’s all _his_ fault, not yours. So no `buts´ or anything, alright? You’re a good boy and I’m proud of you.”

 

“Your da’s got a point there, lad. No way ye can blame yourself for a giant lobster.”

 

“Leviathan” Bilbo corrected automatically and the other, Bofur, shrugged.

 

“Still looked like a _crustacea_ to me. Serve it with let out butter and some lemon, me brother would say, and me point stays: it’s not something any of us can be blamed for. Talking about food, you look downright famished. Why don’t ya go and grab some dinner? Growing kids are always hungry. I should know. I’ve got, like, a million nieces and nephews. And I swear I didn’t try cooking this time.”

 

Briefly the linguist wondered if the otherwise lacking family resemblance he wouldn’t stand for anyone to mention maybe showed in their frown. Kíli might be ... different, with good reason, but he was far from stupid and of course recognised when someone tried to get rid of him so the `adults´ could talk.

 

Frown deepening the youngster looked at his father, then did as suggested after helping Bilbo off the ground. The round little man didn’t cease his own frowning, though.

 

He was ... suspicious. Most here were mercenaries, thugs of varying intelligence hired by and thus loyal to Smaug and Azog (though if given the choice, most would likely rather side with the former than the later, but it was questionable if that would do them any good either way), but there was a small group that didn’t fit under that label, mainly because they were not carrying weapons and ... well, they just generally didn’t fit in with everyone else here.

 

Bofur was one of the nicer persons on this expedition if not even up in the leagues of `too nice for his own good´ and `too nice to be real´. He claimed to be a geologist and was unquestionably good at it. He was here with his brother Bombur, the shy cook, and their cousin Bifur who, as far as Bilbo knew, had suffered an injury to the head years ago that left him mute and with occasional black outs, but the linguist found he still had a sharp mind and was fascinated by the sign language the family had developed on their own.

 

Those three were in it for the money, while Oín, the deaf doctor, and the history professor, Balin, had obviously decided a mad quest was the best way to escape retirement-boredom. Oín’s brother, Glóin, was an expert on explosives and loved it almost as much as his wife and son. Bilbo guessed loyalty to his brother had made him join and the same went for Dori and Ori ... well, or they had been hired to keep their middle brother, Nori, in check. That one was a professional criminal and proud of it. He was here for his various talents and to escape prison. Bilbo judged hi for that, hart, but at least the man was completely honest about who he was and where his loyalties laid. The linguist could appreciate that, even if he didn’t approve.

 

So far Bilbo had only interacted with Balin, because the older man could make maps out of Bilbo’s translations way better than the linguist had any hope of ever doing himself, but he also had an understanding with Dori that, should one of them be unavailable for whatever reason, the other would keep an eye on all three of their charges, that being Kíli, Ori and Nori.

 

“Crustacea?”

 

“Subphylum of lobsters, among others. Tried myself at sea biology in me youth, but rocks are more my turf if you know what I mean. Easer to keep alive, aye?”

 

Comments like that were exactly the reason Bilbo wondered if the other man had even finished school; not because he was stupid, far from it, but because his mind seemed to take him on funny trips now and then, as proven by the other’s collection of ungodly, partly leery jokes that were more scary and embarrassing than funny and sadly had found a dry sponge in Kíli to soak up.

 

And Bilbo had been unable to stop himself from laughing now and then. He was just a man and under constant stress and he really hadn’t meant to ever discover that kind of humour nor that resonated with something in him.

 

“Yes, I can see that. Listen, just what do you want? I’m too tired for pointless pleasantries and got Azog and Smaug breathing down my neck about the translations.”

 

Bofur rubbed his neck, looking not youthful but still years younger doing so.

 

“Blunt honesty, eh? Alright. Thing is, ye need to socialise more. No, wait. That sounds stupid, let me try again.”

 

The other scratched his head without taking off the ever present floppy eared hat. The thing made it very difficult to take him serious, but also to be mad at the man.

 

“Okay, so, the only things you ever do is work and shield the lad from all and everything. Don’t get me wrong, I get parental protectiveness; been on the receiving end of that often enough. Doesn’t look like it, but Bifur can be a right mother hen and right now ye’ve perfectly justified reasons. And the book ... well, none of us could do it, so, really, no complaining about that on me part, but only ever that? That’s not healthy, it isn’t.. Me and the guys ... we’ve kinda been hoping you would warm up to us eventually, but that hardly will happen if ye’re always on ye own. So why don’t you come over and eat dinner with us?”

 

“Oh, I ... I didn’t think you’d appreciate our company” Bilbo admitted a bit meekly. So yes, he was suspicious and maybe a bit ill tempered and not exactly trying to form any kind of bond, but he might have been a bit more amendable to the idea if he’d had reason to believe it was _wanted_ ; if not for himself then for Kíli’s sake.

 

“Why the blazes shouldn’t we? Bella and Bungo wouldn’t shut up about you; it’d be nice to finally get to know the man behind the myth.”

 

And there went all good will on his part.

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose Bilbo focused on taking deep, steadying breaths. He would not throw a fit, even if only because screaming at the brother of the cook was a phenomenal stupid idea and he did not want certain individuals to have any fuel for riling him up even more than they already had.

 

“Okay, er ... I’ll try to do this as civil as I can, which is really difficult for me, because I _hate_ Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, or I would if I’d seen them more than four of five times in my life. I didn’t. They left me with distant relatives that couldn’t have cared less about me and were very skilled in letting me know just that. So I’m not the least interested in hearing _anything_ about those supposedly parents of mine, ever, and nothing you could possible say or do can change my mind. The only good thing they ever did for me was staying alive until after I came of age and could inherit their life insurances myself. I wanted the money even less than being related to them, mind, but having aforementioned relatives get anything out of what they called `raising´ me would have been worse, and in the end it served me well by insuring I could bribe the right people to get full and legal custody for Kíli. So excuse me if I’m not exactly thrilled to get to know the people my own parents abandoned me for and listen to strangers gush about what wonderful persons were, because they sure as Hell weren’t for me.”

 

“Then ... then you’re not here to ...”

 

“To what? Fulfil their lives’ work? Honour their memory? What memory? I’m here because Mister Greybeard _forced_ me and, so help me, if we ever get back, I will ... I don’t know what I will do yet. I don’t like violence, but I will come up with something unpleasant enough.”

 

Bilbo felt a bit sorry to have whipped the other’s smile from his face like that, but, really, it wasn’t his fault everyone only ever expected him to be his parents’ son and wasted not a though on the fact that every minute they had spend with said persons meant Bilbo had been somewhere else and suffered alone one way or the other.

 

“I didn’t ... it didn’t occur to me ...”

 

“Funny thing, isn’t it? It _never_ occurs to anyone” the smaller returned bitter, then shook his head. “If you would excuse me now, Master Bofur. I have an ages old book in an unknown language to translate and a teenage boy to worry about and I’ll be damned if I know which is more complicated.”

 

He turned to go back to his books, but the other held him back.

 

“Listen, I ... I’m really sorry about all that. I can’t promise anything, but I will talk with the guys. We won’t mention them if that helps, but ... just consider coming over; if not for yourself, then for the lad. He needs to socialize.”

 

“That’s low.”

 

“Yeah, but the truth and we won’t let harm come to him. That I _can_ promise ye.”

 

The geologist was likely serious about that and Bilbo already felt himself giving in. Kíli was not the only one who could need someone to talk to. When was the last time he had actually conversed with anyone but Kíli for any other reason than work or necessarily? Depressingly long ago, that’s when, and these people seemed friendly enough with the exception of obviously having known and liked his parents. However, he was short on allies and even shorted on pleasant company, never mind that holding the sins of his parents again these people didn’t actually work well with him trying to be a good person. If they truly did not bring it up again ...

 

The short man was about to voice his resignation when Bofur’s renewed smile faltered and a shadow fell over them. Bilbo didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

 

“Can I help you, Commander?”

 

“I see you are done translating, Master Baggins.”

 

“No, Commander, I’m not.”

 

“Is that so?” the other replied with the wordless order to stop chatting and go back to work. As said before: Azog was scary and Smaug positively terrifying, but they were about to discover that they had nothing on Bilbo Baggins when he had a headache and was already riled up.

 

“Yes, that is so, Commander. You see, were it any other language, I would get a dictionary and you could translate it yourself if you so please, but that journal happens to be written in a _dead_ language based on runes that don’t exist outside said book.”

 

Again, Bilbo didn’t need to see the stormy expression in order to feel it skin him alive.

 

“And where, pray tell, have the instructions we followed so far come from?”

 

“Why, the Journal of the Hobbit, of course. I need to reconstruct the language and, considering that I’m the only one here with the skill to do that, that takes time.”

 

“Then why aren’t you working?”

 

“Because this Hobbit writes in riddles and I believe that incident with the giant centipede (or whatever that was) proved that I shouldn’t try to work without at least a minimum of rest and nourishment.”

 

“I see. We have enough for tomorrow, but I will not tolerate any delays.”

 

And just like that the intimidating presence left again and Bilbo’s shoulders slumped. He may not have sounded the part, but for a moment he _had_ actually feared for his life.

 

“You are either a very brave or a very stupid man, Master Bilbo. Commander Smaug is not a very nice or very patient person, though his success rate is unchallenged.”

 

“Makes me wonder about possible connections between the two. That invitation for dinner, does it still stand?”

 

“Strength in numbers?”

 

Bilbo flinched.

 

“I ... yes. That. It’s not personal, at least not against you. No offence.”

 

“None taken. You know, most days I could bet fear of the Commander is why most of us started to stick together ... which is actually pretty sad, thinking about it. Well then, Master Bilbo, let’s find you and your lad more crowded rocks.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we meet the company, or most of them and have a bit interaction.
> 
> I had a few problems with properly characterising the bad guys. Cumberbatch/Smaug lags the visible muscle mass and Azog the charm of Commander Rourke. I obviously went with the charm.
> 
> Maybe I should point out that I don’t think Belladonna and Bungo have been bad people in this. Their priorities just didn’t work in Bilbo’s favour, so he had been dumped with the Sackville-Bagginses at a really young age and they of course favoured their own children.  
> Also, Kíli is supposed to be around 16 in this (in the historical context I mentioned in the first chapter that would mean technically he is of age) and no, he is not acting according to his age. The reasons for that will be explained later.
> 
> Tell me what you think of it so far; also, there Thorin will be in the next chapter XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ancient heathen god from the stone" was maybe closer to the truth, but hallucinations induced by a giant fungus sounded more believable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for vague description of possibly mortal injury. In other words: the odds of falling 40 feet (roughly estimated) after an explosion and only receiving a little scratch on your shoulder are so bad, Nori wouldn’t bet on it even if he gigged the game himself, so I took a more realistic turn for Bilbo than Milo had, but it’s nothing to graphic.
> 
> Also, [wanderingidealism](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingidealism/pseuds/wanderingidealism) drew me a short comic of one of her favourite scenes from the Atlantis movie with [Bofur blowing up an ancient column and Bilbo despairing about it](http://werewolveskickass.deviantart.com/art/Bilbo-and-Bofur-Atlantis-442638939). I had originally wanted to include a scene like that it in the story, but kind off forgot. Many thanks to her.

* * *

 

Groaning Bilbo made a mental note that `fire flies´ were obviously named that for a very literal reason that was about as destructive as if they were named `lightning bugs´. A very important bit of information that should be mentioned in books but clearly wasn’t.

 

Then came the pain.

 

He tried to see it positive; pain meant he was still alive after all, but that wasn’t very comforting when he could hardly breathe and his head felt as if a whole mountain had come down on it. It wasn’t just pain, it was blazing hot _agony_ , which, he would argue later, was plenty enough reason to believe the thing suddenly appearing before him was an actual demon that then morphed into an angel with a blinding light not behind them, but originating from their chest.

 

At this moment Bilbo couldn’t care less if they were god, angel, demon or Smaug himself, as long as they did something against the pain, which, miraculously, actually happened. The light source moved and burned his chest and he would have been mortified about the following grating and plopping noises and their implications, but, oh, sweet air rushed into his lungs, followed by the same burning sensation at his head, shoulder and leg and the pain induced fog lifted.

 

With his mind clearing the linguist recognised the `demon´ to be simply a very large wooden mask, now held like a shield by a person that clearly wasn’t an angel, at least not the likes which were depicted in classical artworks. This one had no feathery wings, halo or white robes and certainly no ageless, androgyny beauty and serene expression. No, this fine specimen was the embodiment of manliness, with muscles and hair everywhere, neatly trimmed covering the strong chin and in long salt-and-pepper cascades and braids down his back, never mind the fur covering arms and chest (and oh. Not following that trail down. Nope.). Eyes like fire and coal with a curious spark, wrinkles telling of a life with more reasons to frown than smile and ... were that tattoos on his face and shoulder that glowed in the same hue as the pendant around the thick neck?

 

Holy ablative!

 

This ... this was far too close to home, physically and mentally. Guilty fantasies from afar about the construction workers just in view from his small office window were one thing; a safe thing never to be acted on, hidden in the deepest part of his mind where it couldn’t get him arrested or worse, but this was a caveman from the books plus, obviously, the invention of hygiene but not yet trousers and hardly a hand's width away and, Gods, please, he needed a catastrophe, anything, right now, before he did something incredibly stupid, like finding out first hand if the muscles so freely presented were really as firm as they appeared. It didn’t need to be a volcano or something of that magnitude, he could also do without finding out if this vision of a man was part of a cannibalistic tribe, but still ...

 

The other suddenly tensed up, looked around like an animal smelling a predator, then ran away and Bilbo ... well, Bilbo didn’t do the smart thing, no. The smart thing would have been to stay where he was and at least check himself for injuries. Instead he ran _after_ the other man and wished he could excuse it with the realisation that apparently people lived down here – which in itself was quite the shock when it registered later – or that he needed help to find the others, but the simple truth of the matter was: there was this painfully handsome man in nothing but a royal blue toga and he absolutely _needed_ to at least keep him in sight for the sake of feasting his eyes some more on that vision.

 

It was so ... humiliating, so embarrassing, so much better than watching the construction workers from afar. Should he really be thinking about whether or not this tribe’s god and society condemned same sex relationships as was done in his own society while running and climbing over uneven and possibly unstable stone?

 

That was a clear `no´, but the linguist only got his wits back together after he had (regrettably and not for the lack of trying on his part) lost sight of the other and gotten over the shock of bright light, waterfalls, lush greenery and behind the mists the roofs of ...

 

“Well, fuck me sideways!”

 

Bilbo flinched, half expecting Bofur or Nori to make a crass comment about their little pet linguist picking up bad habits, but they couldn’t because they weren’t there and neither was Kíli, because Bilbo had found bloody Erebor, but lost everything else (including his heart and mind in record time, but he would deny that one) and he much rather would have the Not-so-lost-anymore Kingdom vanish again, archaeological importance be damned, if it got him his son back.

 

“I gotta give it ta ye, lad, I would have never guessed ye ... could ... run like ... Holy Shit!”

 

Mouth agape Nori sat down heavily next to the linguist and starred ahead.

 

“Please tell me Kíli is with you.”

 

“Is that ye only concern right n- of course it is. Forget I asked. Saw him run off after the smoke cleared, probably ta find ye. Not that I’m complaining, Master Bilbo, but that was a pretty huge explosion back there. Ye should by all means be dead and crushed. Why aren’t ye?”

 

“If I told you an ancient heathen god came from the stone itself and saved me, what would you do?”

 

 “Conclude that ye hit ye head harder than the blood makes me think.”

 

Hastily Bilbo tried to scrub the drying liquid away, trying not to be mortified when the other helped without hesitation or the slightest hint that he was in some way uncomfortable with getting another’s blood on his hands. The realisation that it likely wasn’t the first time made Bilbo _highly_ uncomfortable in any case.

 

“Okay, now ye lad won’t get a stroke anymore seeing ya ... and I absolutely have ta ask: Ancient heathen god from the stone?”

 

“A mushroom” Bilbo said dryly. “Some giant squishy mushroom cushioned my fall. The spoors must have caused hallucinations.”

 

“Ah, mushrooms. Yeah, those can cause some _mean_ visions. Pity we can’t track back to it. I would have liked a sample, for scientific purposes, of course” Nori provided with a sharp smirk, just before the others came tumbling onto the ledge one after the other, first trying to state their surprise and joy to see Bilbo alive and well, but then rendered speechless.

 

Left aside that this was _Erebor_ , the view from here was indeed breath taking all on his own, but with his hormones back under control the linguist’s main concern was naturally that Kíli didn’t appear and nobody had seen the lad since he ran off. At least that had been _after_ the explosion so he must have come out relatively fine from that, but that detail it was only a small comfort.

 

And then the ancient heathen god from the stone was back again in all his glory, as much as could be seen through the mask anyway, with two guards, guessing by their bearings and spears, one larger, one smaller, and started to talk, the deep timbre of his voice and aggressive gestures rather distracting until Smaug, polite as ever, pushed Bilbo forward and demanded he’d fix this.

 

The small man felt the headache from earlier return, but still tried to decipher the words. It seemed to be the same language as in the Journal of the Hobbit, only it sounded rougher than Bilbo would have anticipated and it was difficult to translate from English, to runes, to syllables strung together in the right order and all without a single sheet of paper, but miraculously it seemed to work good enough to piece together what could be counted as a conversation (with a few borrowed words from other ancient languages he was more fluent in, but he still deserved an award for it).

 

The larger man had questions about how they had gotten past the guardian and found their way here and for what reason, laced with words Bilbo would guess were at least partly swear words. He had just established that they had followed instructions in an old book and gotten past the leviathan only through dumb luck and with many casualties, when the other man took off his mask, clearly annoyed with the thing, and the other two followed suit. The bigger had even more muscles and glowing tattoos – a very inappropriate part of Bilbo’s mind wondered how the man slept at night with all that light and later he would catch sweet little Ori wondering the same out loud – and was possibly even more ill tempered, while the third looked surprisingly similar to their leader, including the beard, except that this one was obviously female.

 

Surprised Bilbo slipped into a mix of Latin and Ancient Greek, but was still understood and replied to with a slightly more curious tilt in the frown. It was a truly astonishing discovery. The runes led one to believe that it was a complicated language, but spoken it was the simplest he had ever encountered and much easier to get a hang of. Then again, `simple´ wasn’t the right term; it just so happened that this language seemed to be a sort of ancient cradle of all languages, allowing these people to learn and understand modern languages faster than should be possible ... or they were much more educated than their clothes (or lack thereof) indicated.

 

Sadly, just when Bilbo was about to exploit this newfound knowledge to ask for help in finding Kíli, beg if he had to, Smaug caught on, too, and pushed Bilbo again, this time out of the way, presenting himself as the friendly leader he most definitely wasn’t of scholars that were very much under-represented.

 

It was a small mercy, but these people – Ereborians, Bilbo figured – clearly remained suspicious and willing to use their spears. That half the people on Bilbo’s side pulled out guns when a fourth member of the native tribe barged in was definitely not helping the general tension.

 

The new arrival was clearly (as he was lacking a wooden mask) a young man and very excited, not even noticing the intruders as he talked to the leader and the woman alternately. It sounded suspiciously like `look what I found. Can I keep it?´. The worst (or best) part about it was, however, that `it´ turned out to be Kíli hanging over the blond man’s shoulder and looking quite pleased about it ... only that it placed him right between far too many weapons and edgy adults for the liking of this single father, thank you very much.

 

“Okay, that’s enough. All of you, stand down, right now!”

 

“Papa! You are alright!”

 

“Yes, my lad, I’m quite fine. And are you unharmed?”

 

“Yes, but look what I found. Can we keep him?”

 

Heavens have mercy on him, but he loved that lad dearly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Bilbo's "holy ablative" thought: I had Latin in school. I hated it and never understood what an ablative even is (aside from some grammatical casus) or what it’s needed for, but I figured for a linguist that would be the equivalent of `holy god´ or something like that.
> 
> Also: hormones. They don't give a damn if you’re 30 something. Trust me; I’m approaching 30 and on bad days my hormones still act as if puberty never ended.  
> And is it very obvious that I don’t have a clue how to write accents? If it’s too bad, say the word and I’ll just write plain English and leave you to imagine it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wasn't sure what was worse: secretly lusting after a man from an ancient tribe he knew nothing about, or finding out that said man was their king, but Smaug's expression might just be worth it.

* * *

 

“Them giant mushrooms of yours? Looks suspiciously like an ancient heathen god from the stone ta me. Fertility, I wager” Nori grinned and Bilbo should have known the other would comment on that sooner or later. In fact, he _had_ known, but he had also hoped to have a bit more time to prepare a reply, what’s with being led through the lost Kingdom of Erebor that wasn’t just some stones in varying sizes, but a magnificent ancient city if a bit wet, with an considerable large tribe living in it and quite comfortable at that, going by what he could see. Also, the linguist would admit that he was a bit distracted by Kíli’s complete disregard of personal space. Oh, Bilbo was used to having the lad drabbed over _himself_ and didn’t mind at all, especially knowing the cause for that behaviour, but that was just the point: it wasn’t the linguist the younger was drabbed all over, but that young, blond warrior who had found him or vice versa. Luckily those Ereborians didn’t seem to take any offence (the blond even encouraged it), but it was still startling. Kíli didn’t trust easily if not to say not at all, and he was very spars with his affections towards strangers.

 

“Impossible. And, even if, you’d be leering at the wrong ancient fertility god’s back. Also, while we’re breaking the unspoken agreement of silence, I was under the impression you had an _agreement_ with Bofur. It’s not fair on him and I’d rather not find out just what _their_ standing on _that_ particular matter is with one of those impressive axes at my throat” Bilbo hissed back. The other raised his hands in submission and fell back again, but certainly didn’t stop ogling the tall bald one carrying said axes. If his heart wouldn’t have been taken already, Bilbo could have fancied that one, too, but obviously a certain metaphorical organ (he had seen anatomy books, thank you very much) was fully intend to make him even more miserable than he already was. Not that it made much of a difference which dark skinned, naked, muscled, tattooed back he was trying not to ogle, but he was a one hopeless attraction at the time kind of guy.

 

It wasn’t love, certainly not after hardly one conversation that hadn’t even been about them, but desire, oh, desire the small man could; not that it was making matters any easier. At least within the safety of his mind he wouldn’t need to fear the chop block.

 

And then there was the matter that he seriously doubted they would be allowed to stay and why should they? They were invaders and especially with the way Smaug had insisted on talking only with their leader and repeatedly cut Bilbo and Balin off when they tried to point out that it was a stupid demand their welcome would be short lived.

 

Well, at least they got to see a bit of the city and maybe these people wouldn’t kill them for finding their ancient civilisation. Surely they had developed past that stage and would, well, blindfold them and abandon them somewhere on the surface? Not optimal, but better than the alternative, though Smaug and Azog in special seemed hell bend on getting everyone killed. The Commander was unfriendly and more arrogant than he had any right to be and Azog sneered at everything in open distain and hostility. Granted, he did that with everything and everyone all the time, but the people here didn’t know that and it wasn’t a good excuse to begin with.

 

Also, the linguist would be the first to admit that he didn’t know what a palace might look like to these people, but even he could recognise the building they were approaching as a palace and not just because of the two guards with shields and spears at the gate, never mind that it was the first door like construction they had encountered in the whole settlement. The pond right behind it could put one off track and the crumbling walls and holes in the ceiling were covered with colourful fabric and living vegetation everywhere, but here a deep blue was clearly the dominating colour and hung up with purpose. Nowhere else in the city had Bilbo seen blue fabric and they wouldn’t be the first civilisation to have a special colour reserved for royalty and ...

 

Oh dear.

 

Kíli’s and his native were each wearing the same blue fabric, as was the female warrior.

 

Oh, that wasn’t good, not good at all, and now Smaug was pointedly inquiring why they hadn’t been led to their leader yet as had been agreed on, never mind that nothing had ever actually been agreed on. Bilbo’s man – he really, really ought to stop refereeing to him as such, but he didn’t have a name to go with the face and muscles and was currently too concerned to inquire about it – frowned, then told the blond to go fetch something. Bilbo couldn’t translate what exactly and rather distracted himself with his son, who finally returned to his side, chatting on and on about how beautiful the city and everything in general and especially the other lad was.

 

Said lad returned a bit later, a metal crown clutched between his hands as others would hold a cleaning rag, saying that he hadn’t been able to find it right away, before just throwing it at his elder, who placed it on his own head and then let himself fall on a set of cushions on top of some stairs. It certainly was the oddest throne Bilbo had ever seen or imagined and the crown was slightly dented, could use a good polishing and sat lopsided, but the meaning behind it was clear enough and, really, could anyone begrudge the small man the snicker at the gobsmacked expressions of Smaug and Azog?

 

*~*~*~*

 

“How kind of you to volunteer, Mister Baggins.”

 

Too engrossed in their current dilemma Bilbo needed a moment to focus.

 

“What?”

 

“You meet all the necessary requirements, or would you rather we send your son? He seems to be getting along with their brat just fine.”

 

The brat being the blond warrior and heir to the crown, little as the object itself seemed to mean to these people, and Kíli both winced under the sudden attention and bristled on behalf of the other youth. Bilbo just plain bristled.

 

“Confound it, you will leave my lad out of this mess” he demanded and walked back towards the palace without any further comment. They had been given three days and the king had agreed to organise provisions. That was far too kind of him in Bilbo’s opinion, though he wouldn’t complain as they really needed those provisions, but he had no intention whatsoever to convince the king to let them stay longer; quite the opposite in fact, but the others didn’t need to know that.

 

Predictably Kíli was on his heels just a moment later.

 

“Papa? Do you think I could, well ...”

 

Sighing Bilbo turned and took the younger’s face between his hands.

 

“It’s alright, my boy. Go and play with the lad if that is what you both want. Just remember that we can’t stay and I doubt can convince the king otherwise.”

 

“I could ...”

 

“No, lad, no. I know you want to help and I appreciate it, but I rather you go and have fun and let me worry about the rest. Besides, this is politics and, aside from having the tendency to end awfully messy, they are also awfully _boring_.”

 

The dark haired nodded gravely and then hugged the shorter man.

 

“You can’t always shield me from everything, papa.”

 

“I know, my boy, I know. Just let me pretend I can for a little while longer, yes? And make sure you’re back before dark. We don’t know anything about their culture after all or what else lives here.”

 

Kíli agreed readily and with a last `love you, papa´ ran towards the blond warrior, who was hiding rather badly behind one of the columns. It was adorable how they were instantly all over each other, laughing and wrestling, but ...

 

“Oh, it’s going to break his heart when we leave.”

 

“Make that two hearts.”

 

Surprised Bilbo jumped around only to find the king in all his handsome grumpiness right behind him. How the man had been able to move so soundlessly the smaller would never find out, though he would blame the bare feet and practice.

 

“Most certainly if you scare me to death. Please don’t do that again.”

 

The larger gave him a blank look, then turned back to watch the young men. They were obviously taking a break from wrestling, looking for all the world like a Gordian knot made of limbs and chatting as if it wasn’t the single most uncomfortable position ever.

 

For a moment Bilbo wanted to use the opportunity and ask if such behaviour was really acceptable, but discarded the thought almost immediately. It was not a good topic to start a conversation with. Actually it wasn’t a topic to bring up anywhere in any conversation, especially as the king was seeing it all and so far not complaining, so instead he settled for expressing his gratitude for earlier.

 

“I’m sure I don’t actually want to know how badly I’ve really been injured, but I know you saved my life and for that I’m in your dept, though I don’t quite know what a simply linguist like me could possible offer a king.”

 

Again the other levelled him with a maybe less blank and a bit more thoughtful glaze.

 

“Is that what you call your leaders? Kings?”

 

“Uhm, that depends, I guess. See, we, uh, have many different nations up there with different leaders that have different titles and ... it’s _really_ complicated.”

 

“I see. Does your land have a king then? Your leader seemed to expect one.”

 

“Smaug wouldn’t recognise a true leader if they hit him around the head.”

 

The words had hardly left his mouth when Bilbo already clasped both hands over it. He really, really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but just got another nonplussed “I see” in return and then a long heavy silence in which the lads again began to wrestle for seemingly no reason at all, though going by the laughter they didn’t need any special reason.

 

Was it creepy that they just stood there and watched their actually grown sons play like little boys? It certainly didn’t feel creepy; just a bit awkward.

 

“I haven’t seen him this happy since his father died.”

 

Okay, so maybe not truly sons, but the sentiment remained.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, though I have to admit I have never seen Kíli like this either. I mean no offence, but he is not _your_ son then?”

 

“Sister-son.”

 

Bilbo made what he really hoped was a none-judgemental noise, then slapped his forehead.

 

“Sorry, manners. I, er, my name is Bilbo Baggins and that’s my son, Kíli.”

 

The king completely ignored the outstretched hand and grumped something in reply that might have been a name but the linguist doubted he would ever be able to pronounce that right. It must have shown, because a moment later the other sighed with something akin to defeat.

 

“Thorin. He is Fíli.”

 

“So ... Kíli and Fíli?” the smaller snickered, because he really couldn’t help it and he could swear the king, Thorin, was fighting hard to keep up his serious front.

 

“I’ll admit it sounds ... we should better not tell his mother.”

 

“You sound scared of her.”

 

“I would be insane not to be. My sister is a fierce warrior, even more so when her precious boy is involved. Is your partner so different?”

 

“I’m not ... that is, I don’t ... It’s just Kíli and me. There has never been anyone else.”

 

Again Thorin replied with only “I see”, though it did have a hint of sympathy this time. The king seemed to gradually ease into their conversation, but then noticed and stiffened again and it was rather frustrating to watch. In comparison “tell me about your companions” sounded like an order and the larger turned and walked away, clearly expecting Bilbo to keep pace.

For a moment Bilbo considered to be stubborn and stay where he was, but he had dared his good fortune enough for one day and going with Thorin meant getting to see more of him and the city.

 

He didn’t, at least not of the city itself, but the perimeter was also beautiful to look at and Thorin seamlessly went from asking about his companions to inquiring about the world Bilbo came from in general.

 

When the linguist returned to camp just before sundown – `dusk´ was probably the more accurate term, as it was not the light of the sun illuminating this place and he had forgotten to ask about the light source – Smaug of course instantly inquired about the success of his task and why it had taken so long. It might have been but a few hours, but spending them with Thorin had done wonders for Bilbo’s self-esteem and so he puffed up and told the commander in no uncertain terms that he may be socially awkward, but even he knew that begging for more after having just been granted more than they were entitled to was not just rude, but stupid as well. So, no, he hadn’t asked yet, but he would go and see if the king would be amendable to continue talking with him tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us not talk about Bofur’s incredible gay-dar, Nori’s shit-eating grin and Bilbo’s scandalised sputtering when he accidentally walked in on them back on the submarine or how very much the former two own Bilbo for distracting Azog from also entering the same storage room. They had a strict "Not acknowledging it" thing going on.
> 
> In case you are wondering, Bilbo isn't quite ready yet to properly get his hormones back under control and Thorin is shy, except he is showing it in a bad way, but he will get better later ... kind of. Well, he tries at least.  
> Originally I wanted to show that Thorin is actually quite smart and educated through a little discussion between him and Bilbo about the Greeks and this “new” concept they tried out, democracy. Problem is the timing. I mentioned before that by Atlantis/Erebor is in the Mediterranean Sea and sunk around 8000 BC; the first form of democracy (Ostracism in Athens), however, was reported around 500 B.C. which would have been way too late. So no philosophically/politically discussions in this chapter.
> 
> Also, no gold fever in this story either and just what would Thorin need a crown for? They are a small community, everyone knows he's king. They probably used that thing as a candle holder or something XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That getting to know a new culture could be a challange Bilbo had known before, if only in theory. He hadn't expected that a culture shock could be quite so hard to stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for descriptions of a homophobic society and a panic attack.
> 
> On a side note. I don't have tumbler and I feel rather bad for not being able to tell ewe (the artist of the pic that started this) about the story, so if maybe some else could do it? Pretty please.

* * *

 

Kíli was bouncing on his heels and Bilbo had to force himself to remind the younger that they would have to leave the next day, before letting him run to an equally exited Fíli. The blond warrior was not the only one waiting, though Thorin did not show any outward signs of excitement.

 

“Walk with me.”

 

Maybe he was imagining it, but Bilbo liked to think this time it sounded a bit more like a question than an order. Not that it would have made a difference either way and that the king headed for the lived-in parts of the city this time rather than the perimeter was just the icing on the metaphorical cake. The linguist had to admit he wouldn’t have said no to some actual cake and tea, even if the hour of the day was about as inappropriate as his reoccurring thoughts about the backside of the larger being a nice sight no matter where they went. Maybe he should stop introducing Kíli as his son and rather say they were brothers. His hormones at least seemed to make an effort to revert him to _that_ age.

 

“Yesterday you answered my questions. If I’m able, I shall return the favour today.”

 

“Oh. Oh, well, I fear I have so many questions I don’t quite know where to start a-and I don’t want to insult anyone by inquiring about things you would find inappropriate.”

 

“You cannot know about our customs. I shall not take any more offence from your questions than you did from mine.”

 

“I didn’t take any ... oh. I see. Well, then ... well, then I’d like to know how it comes that all of this is down here.”

 

Where the existence of Erebor had been a surprise and the discovery of people living here a shock, the answer Bilbo received, an eye witness account, almost made him faint. In fact, the only reason he didn’t was pure will not to embarrass himself like that.

 

“But that was ... eight to nine _thousand_ years ago?!”

 

A raised eyebrow spoke louder than words ever could that Thorin saw nothing strange about that, though he did add that he had been still young then and knew most only from his late father’s telling. At least the king reacted just as surprised when Bilbo stuttered out that on the surface it was seldom people lived more than 60 years and he was already taking into consideration that in recent years the life expectations had been slowly but steadily increasing.

 

Bilbo felt bile rise up in his throat. It wasn’t so much the enormous age gap between them, but the thought that somehow these people had found immortality and ...

 

“They must not know” he said before he could finish the thought or let it drift to the bright pendants he had seen around everyone’s necks. “No one, ever, and we will not speak of this again.”

 

Thorin hesitated for a moment, but then nodded and the linguist couldn’t care less about the other’s reason as long as he agreed. Bilbo himself thought himself educated enough to realise that immortality was as much curse as it seemed a blessing, though Thorin certainly made it look appealing, and even if (and that was a big if) Smaug might be convinced to share his opinion, Azog decidedly wouldn’t and neither would pass up this chance of making a fortune. Whatever valuables they thought to find here – and why else would they be so insistent on staying? They surely hadn’t shown any interest in ancient architecture or culture so far – Bilbo would make sure this was _not_ one of them.

 

As he thought this Thorin took up walking again and the linguist followed, dark thoughts one by one replaced with awe. True, he had seen much already yesterday, but the people had been wary of them then. Now it was just him with their – obviously well liked and trusted – king and Bilbo could watch them behave naturally ... which sounded very odd, even in his own head, but currently he held the role of an observer and was anyway more versed in the written word (preferable in ancient languages) than the spoken or thought one.

 

Confusion about bearded women aside the people of Erebor seemed a friendly lot, quick with songs and jokes alike and very tactile, to say the least. Claps on backs, hugs, arms around shoulders or waist regardless of age, gender and obvious family relations were the norm and, probably due to his size and because his own beardlessness was as confusing to them as the other way around, Bilbo received quite a few pats on the head and ruffles through his hair whenever someone passed by close enough to do so or stopped for a brief chat with their leader.

 

He decided to take as a sign of acceptance rather than take offence or comment on that, but he did ask about the warriors with spears and helmets that obviously were about to head out ... with Bifur?

 

“Hunters” Thorin explained. “Your comrade expressed interest and skill enough to join.”

 

“Ah. What will they hunt? Only, we have not come across anything.”

 

“Then you were fortunate. In the caves you passed through large beasts with many legs house. They are very aggressive during this season, but that also makes them prone to make mistakes. Tonight we will feast.”

 

Noticing Bilbo going green the king noted that they tasted better than it sounded and the smaller swallowed a comment about the things hopefully also tasting better than they looked. Discussing the touchiness of the other’s people suddenly seemed much better than the near death encounter that had obviously been even nearer than he had first thought ... or maybe not.

 

“I noticed many have glowing ink on their skin. Do they hold special meaning?”

 

“Only if the bearer wants them to. Do you want one? It doesn’t take long if you choose a simple design.”

 

“Er ... that is ... thank you for the offer, but I much rather don’t. I fear it would make my life more complicated back home than it already is.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Superstition, mostly. People see inked skin and instantly think you’re either a sailor or a criminal. I don’t exactly look like either, so they will think me something worse and word will get back to my boss and I’ll lose my job and then I’ll lose my home and Kíli and ... not worth sating my curiosity.”

 

“Are you always this negative or is your world so ...?” Thorin used a word in his own language that Bilbo couldn’t translate, but it sounded suspiciously similar to `backwaterish´, so the linguist just nodded and said that it was an unequal mix of both, with the later greatly fuelling the former. He was saved from a reply by a child running almost past them, but only almost, as the king picked her up without faltering in his steps and carried her under his arm as if this happened every day. The girl blinked surprised and wiggled around. Then she seemed to realise who caught her and started to chatter away at a speed that was too fast for Bilbo to understand, but the gist of it seemed to be that she wanted to see the strangers. Then she noticed Bilbo and started to ask him a hundred questions he tried to answer as good as he could. Going by Thorin’s chuckles he either failed spectacularly or the larger just thought their whole situation rather amusing. It was, actually, and Bilbo certainly didn’t mind.

 

Distracted as he was the linguist only noticed they stopped when he collided with the broad back he fancied so unhealthily and the child vanished from his sight into the arms of a quite relieved man who had to be the father, going by the soft scolding he gave the little one and the number of times he thanked them for the return of the troublemaker. It was rather adorable to watch ... and then a second man ran right past Thorin, snatched the girl and began to smother her with hugs and kisses and picked up the scolding where the other had stopped.

 

Bilbo was shocked, to say the least, and tried to convince himself that he was seeing things and that surely one of these men was the girl’s brother or uncle – for God’s sake, Thorin was over 8000 years old! It was entirely possible that they had adult and infant children at the same time and clearly neither was female – and, though he was rather proud of his skills, the short man could easily admit that he still had much to learn about this ancient language, so it was also possible that he misheard or simply got the vocabulary wrong. Surely the little one wasn’t calling both men endearments _he_ thought meant `father´, loudly, in public, in front of their king, and of course they only stood so close to make sure the girl wouldn’t escape again.

 

Yes, that was it ... except that the one not holding the girl slipped his arms around the other’s waist and leaned against his shoulder and even if Bilbo could have found perfectly respectable reasons for everything else or ignored the affectionate tone as they spoke to each other, there was absolutely no way he could explain away the kiss the men shared.

 

Dumbstruck as he was at that point Bilbo was later rather glad he seemed to have picked up the instincts of a duckling, always following Thorin, though he didn’t truly hear him as he spoke about the little girl being always on the hunt for adventures and that it took the whole tribe to keep track of her. Oh, her fathers were good hunters and warriors, but this child was a worthy opponent indeed. He voiced the growing suspicion that soon they would only be able to catch her by chance or if she indulged them, but didn’t seem worried about that either.

 

It was then Bilbo’s mind finally accepted the terrible, glorious truth of it all, that he had witnessed two grown men being loving and affectionate with each other in plain sight of everyone and their king and it was all perfectly normal to the point that Thorin didn’t even see the need to comment on their relationship or how they had come by the child.

 

He couldn’t quite recall how it happened, but one moment he felt as if the whole world had come tumbling down upon him, the next he sat under a tree just outside the city, head clenched between his hands and shaking, at first from nerves, then from Thorin’s hands drawing smoothing circles on his back and the timbre of his voice instructing him to inhale, hold and exhale with a worried frown.

 

“It’s not done” Bilbo whispered and of course Thorin’s frown deepened. He couldn’t know what Bilbo was talking about, could probably not even guess it and that was so horribly wrong and absolutely wonderful at once.

 

“It’s not just not done, a man being ... that close with another man. It gets you arrested, locked away for years, and if you survive that, you will get shunned, people won’t talk with you, only about you, spread rumours worse than that, not sell you their wares, and they will come at night with hooded faces and ... it’s not _done_.”

 

“Love is a crime?!”

 

“If a man loves a woman of equal social standing or vice versa and only shows it subtly in public, no. But everything else ... Gods, the whispers and accusations I have to hear only because I don’t discourage Kíli from hugging me.”

 

“You are being called a bad parent for hugging your child?” Thorin asked, growing more scandalised with every word and Bilbo didn’t even try to suppress the humourless laugh.

 

“If it were only that. They say I keep him as ... for _pleasure_. It doesn’t matter that they use different words, it’s still plain to hear and see they think it and I never quite know which need to follow: punch them or be sick all over them. So what if he is not of my blood? That doesn’t have to mean ... They imagine it and _I_ am the sick one?!”

 

For a long time they sat in silence, the king and the linguist, the former picking at the grass in deep thought, the later wishing for something, anything, to escape the all of this, preferable without embarrassing himself any further. He wouldn’t take back the words, but having a nearly hysteric fit was not exactly pleasant on several levels.

 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Bilbo, Thorin spoke, though thankfully he did not look up.

 

“The men you saw, I have known them all my life” he said calmly. “They are good friends, as close to me and mine as family, but always closer still to each other. I don’t think I have ever seen them apart but once in my life. They had quarrelled about something, I don’t recall what, and refused to even go near the other. They became ill after a while and at first we feared poison or something contagious until, but then my sister realised that a combination of pride, guild and especially their separation caused their condition. She forced them to make up and they got better. Their union as life mates later was merely a formality to appease her wish to hold such a feast. The little one came to them when her parents died while she was still an infant. She had no other family left and they did not hesitate to take her as their own and are so far doing a remarkable job. Truly, I cannot imagine anyone better suited to raise the little troublemaker. They are not the only such union, but thinking of my friends, their devotion to and love for each other never fails to lift my spirits. It is how we have done things for as long as I can remember. We bond with those we love truly, care for each other and show it openly.”

 

“We don’t” Bilbo replied flatly and then proceeded to tell the King about arranged, loveless marriage, about class systems that shouldn’t matter anymore, but were far too prominent in the heads of the people. His experiences were admittedly limited, Bilbo would admit, and maybe there were families where it was different, but to his knowledge children had only two purposes: carry on the family name and business or serve as cheap, expandable work force. No one would take in a child not their own, unless they came with a large inheritance. The only reason he himself had been taken in by distant relatives had been the monthly allowances from his parents and only his natural talent with languages was to thank for any education he had received in those years. His relatives had thought they could make capital from that and marrying him off to a truly abdominal woman for the dowry (a concept Thorin couldn’t understand either).

 

As terribly as it had been, in the end Bilbo was actually grateful said relatives had cared so little about him. Thanks to malnutrition he had always been a small lad (which obviously didn’t change later) and no one but he had ever bothered to count his birthdays. Only because they had been caught by surprise by his coming of age had the linguist been able to evade marriage, move to the other side of the country and cut all ties with them, not to say they only noticed when he and the inheritance from his recently deceased parents had already left.

 

By that time he had already noticed that he was attracted to men, but the teachings of religion and society called it unnatural, a sickness of the mind that was punishable by law and getting locked away for 4 to 20 years was still kind compared to what he knew had happened to some. The fear of discovery had been a driving force like no other. Bilbo had with time come to terms with his desires and the fact that he had to keep it secret from everyone. For a while he had done what he could (discretely of course) to do something against that, yet without success and given up at some point. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was better than the alternative, or so he had thought. To now see another way to go about things without it meaning the end of civilisation if not the world altogether, was quite the shock.

 

“What about Kíli?” Thorin asked after a while and the linguist sighed.

 

“He’s aware, I believe, and understands that it must remain a secret, though he never quite understood why it’s a bad thing either. Ah, he’s a good lad. I couldn’t be prouder of him.”

 

“And his mother?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m evil to stop here, but see it as a motivation to leave comments.
> 
> And now my usual bit of knowledge:  
> Gay rights were nonexistent in 1914. Actually, the word “gay” doesn’t turn up until 1920 and I read something about sentences ranging from 4 to 20 years (I misplaced the source) and have no prove on how homosexuality was met by the populace. I imagine Bilbo has at least heard some horror stories, maybe some young men boasting about what they’d done to one of those `perverts´ (their words, not mine). I don’t think he was a first hand witness, but it was still a strong motivator to keep that closet locked and hidden deep under the basement. As stated in the story, for Thorin same sex relationships are so normal he can’t even imagine it might be different anywhere else. Hearing/Seeing how very differently their people handle that topic was a shock to both of them.
> 
> On an off note, those two friends Thorin speaks about here are Aragorn and Boromir. It holds no relevance what so ever for this story what so ever; it's just a guilty pleasure of mine to have them have one of those sappy domestic relationships including running after and fussing over an energetic little girl.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally Bilbo had thought a long talk with Thorin would be awkward. This was so much worse than "awkward".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you have been wondering about Kíli's origins and his behaviour. It shall finally be revealed (evil laugh).
> 
> Also, mentioning of past character death and you can measure Bilbo's stress level with how much of a lip he is giving Smaug and Azog. I give you a hint: it's increasing.

* * *

 

Taking a stuttering breath Bilbo fought down his first instinct to react defensive to any and all inquiries about Kíli’s origins, as they usually were meant judgmental towards him and the lad in the worst possible way, but not so now. He may not know Thorin for long, but after all he had seen and heard he was rather confident that the larger only asked out of the wish to understand, not to imply anything.

 

“Kíli is ... not really my son” he said, having to force the much hated words out. “At least not by blood. It’s not a grand tale, it isn’t. Some years ago during one of the worst winters I’ve seen so far – terrible weather. Ice and snow everywhere – I got lost in a bad part of the city. I honestly can’t say how that happened, but I would have probably ended up dead one way or the other if Kíli hadn’t appeared out of nowhere and led me out. He won’t talk about it and I hate pressing the topic, but he must have lived on the streets for a long time already by then and suffered unspeakable things. He was so thin, barely more than skin and bones, running around in dirty rags. I offered him clothes and a warm meal, but ... no one should have to be that suspicious of an insufficient act of kindness. It took me ages to convince him that I was kind for kindness sake and an admittedly good portion guilt, that he didn’t have to repay me, least of all with ... Sometimes I wonder if it’s not better he does not speak of it. Selfish, I suppose, but with what little I know I fear my imagination is still kinder than the truth and I can imagine Very Bad things.”

 

He chanced a look and found Thorin at least as troubled as Bilbo remembered feeling and for him it had only gotten worse with time as he had to realise there were more like Kíli had been – he had known it before, of course, but it had been so easy to turn a blind eye then – and no chance for Bilbo the help them all or even most. He wasn’t proud of it, but instead of despairing over what he couldn’t do, he had concentrated on what he could do, namely caring for Kíli, and, even if he mugged up the rest of his life, he was confident that he had done at least that one thing right.

 

“I like your world less with every moment.”

 

“You’re not the only one.”

 

“And yet you do not want to stay.”

 

“I ... it’s complicated.”

 

“Then explain it with more words.”

 

Okay, well, the linguist _had_ hoped to avoid that particular topic, but maybe it would indeed be better in the long run to explain it plainly.

 

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to stay. What I’ve seen of your lands so far is beautiful, your culture is fascinating and the way you handle _that_ ... even without that, Kíli is happier here than I have seen him in quite some time, so trust me when I say that if it were up to me, I’d gladly stay.”

 

“Then it is not up to you?”

 

“See, _that_ is where it gets complicated. In theory we would only need your allowance to stay, but I must strongly advice you against giving it. There is no way we can believable explain why we are allowed to stay and everyone else get’s send away and you absolutely _need_ to send them away Some that came with us seem quite decent, but I worry about their motivations, especially Smaug and Azog. Well, actually I’m _sure_ about their motivations and they couldn’t be further from honourable or scholarly in nature. They have a reputation of being always successful in what they do, but I find it worryingly that no one would speak about the means. We ... _I_ thought we’d find a few ruins, maybe a relict or two if anything at all. If I had known people live here, I would have never led them here.”

 

Thorin frowned and made a noise that hopefully indicated acceptance of the explanation, agreement to Bilbo’s assessment of the situation and promise to keep it in mind. It was maybe a bit too much meaning put into a single grunt, but as a linguist Bilbo knew it was possible.

 

“You say you led them? How?”

 

The smaller prayed the change of topic was a good sign and held out the Journal of the Hobbit.

 

“This was found some years ago, I believe. I was too translating it to ask for details on it’s origins. You see, other ancient texts indicated this contained a detailed description of Erebor and how to reach it, but nowhere else have such runes ever been found. It wounds my pride to admit it, but it took me ages to translate and half the time I was guessing. I’m sure you could do much better if we had the time.”

 

“I doubt that” Thorin choked out as he took the journal with shaking hands. He didn’t open it, just let his palm hover over the cover as if it was something sacred and for a moment Bilbo panicked. What if this _was_ a long lost sacred relict? Surely he wouldn’t be punished for something he didn’t know, would he? Thorin had said so, hadn’t he?

 

“This was my brother’s; I’d recognise it anywhere. Between us he was always the scholar, the only one knowing the runes properly. It always seemed too much of an effort to learn until no one was left to teach them.”

 

Oh. And Bilbo had thought a sacred book would be bad. This was worse on too many levels and the liguist knew he ought to stop Thorin, but the other seemed to need to talk with someone about it and Bilbo at least could keep secrets.

 

“He always carried this with him. When we were young Dís and I used explore the caves and Frerin made maps from our descriptions, wrote down what he thought could be interesting. He always wanted to see the world above, teach them what we know and learn from them; always playful, always curious, always far too trusting and stubborn; can’t forget stubborn. It runs in the family. We tried to discourage him, feared for his safety, but when he was of age we had no right to deny him any longer. It was foolish to hope he would not meet anyone or anything of interest, as everything held interest to him. We were preparing a search party for him when he returned with strangers in tow, warriors with horned helmets and round shields, conquerors, only he didn’t see that until it was too late. We beat them back, but at a horrible price. Not only did we lose many to the battle, but Frerin sacrificed himself to block the entrance. His journal lost with him. When ... later we awoke what you call the Leviathan, to make sure something like that never happens again.”

 

In that moment Bilbo praised the powers that be that he had a filter that prevented him from saying the first thing coming to his mind, in this case how he now felt even worse for bringing Smaug here. It was the truth, but not appropriate. He also believed that pointing out that the strangers had probably been Vikings, which also explained how the journal had ended up in a tomb in Iceland, would not be helpful. Somehow this Frerin reminded him of Kíli, but he didn’t say that either, because the linguist’s stomach cramped up horribly at the thought alone and saying it out loud would make it worse.

 

“I don’t even know why I tell you all this.”

 

“Because I will make damn sure history doesn’t repeat itself.”

 

And there went his high praised filter.

 

“I mean, keep it. The journal. It’s, well, it’s yours either way, I suppose, and it would be stupid to take it back. Someone might find it and translate it again and, really, it would defeat the whole purpose of a lock if the key is available for everyone. And I’m babbling. Great I ... I should probably see what Kíli is doing and one of these days I should probably also start treating him as the adult he is, but I don’t really want to and he doesn’t seem to mind and I’m babbling again.”

 

“The hunters will return soon. You and your son may join us for dinner if you wish.”

 

“Oh. Yes, well, I’d love to have dinner with you, your people, I’d be honoured, I mean. I ... at dusk at the palace?” Bilbo stuttered while mentally trying to put together a plan on how to get everyone to leave peacefully and make sure they couldn’t return. A cave-in, maybe. Thorin would most likely not appreciate the parallel, but it was a sound concept and surely it didn’t need to include self-sacrifice. If he made it happen near where they had left the small submarines the Ereborians would even have their large insects to hunt. The linguist was under no illusion that a bit rock would not stop people forever, but certainly long enough for Thorin to destroy the landmarks. That and said giant insects should put a stop to further explorations for a long while.

 

“We will await you there” Thorin replied, distracted by the journal, and Bilbo thought it better to retreat.

For a while he wandered, caught between wonder, worry and unwillingness to face Smaug’s questioning, though sadly he couldn’t avoid it altogether.

 

“You were straying.”

 

“I got lost. Twice. It happens.”

 

“The city isn’t that big.”

 

“And were it a library or archive I would have been perfectly fine, but the lack of neatly labelled shelves made it more difficult to navigate than I would have anticipated.”

 

“And did you at least succeed?”

 

“Ah, that is a matter of perception, I fear.”

 

As to be expected Smaug reacted not favourable, Azog even less so, since patience was not in his character, but violence was. Fortunately he respected – or maybe feared, which was even more worrying – Smaug enough to stay his hand.

 

“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean.”

 

“Well” Bilbo began with his carefully constructed story. “I believe in general the king is not opposed to us staying and studying them and their culture. I’m certain if we asked, they would give us a some trinkets to take along, things they can part with and that if we sell the story right, could indeed make us rich and famous. In return the king only requests that we keep their existence secret for now and that we leave, tomorrow, to come back later. I’m not certain about the details, but there seems to be an upcoming sacred month, very important to them, and they’d much prefer privacy for that until they had the opportunity to discuss what they wish to share with outsiders.”

 

It wasn’t a lie, strictly speaking; just a very execrated possibility. Bilbo could keep secrets very well (obviously), but lying was always easier when he could stay with a story that was at least as possible as he could.

 

“A sacred month?”

 

“That’s what he said. I can ask again during dinner, but the way I see it, it would be best we leave tomorrow and return in a month to be welcomed as friends and in high regards for respecting their ways. Really, I can imagine worse.”

 

“I can imagine _better_. I clearly expected too much from you, so I will speak with the King myself during dinner.”

 

“You aren’t invited.”

 

It was a bold move, or maybe stupid, but this was one point Bilbo didn’t want to budge on for various reasons. More than half of them were entirely selfish, because he wanted this dinner, badly, and he wanted it to be good.

 

“I lead this expedition!”

 

“Yes, well, _officially_ , but you send the small, harmless linguist to fool them and that’s why I have the king’s ear and you don’t. And, about that fooling part, it was a stupid idea. The king is not easily deceived if at all. Now if you will excuse me, dining with the King calls for a fresh shirt, I believe.”

 

Choosing a brisk speed that was just shy of fleeing with a healthy amount of insulted bristling the linguist left the commander behind to stare at his retreating back. Bilbo would admit he could have been more diplomatic, but even his patience was limited, never mind that the constant stress was rather taxing. Aside from that had that last been part entirely true. Smaug hadn’t been invited to dine with Thorin and his family; Bilbo had and ...

 

Oh, dear. He was to dine with the royal family, the family of the man he was hopelessly attracted to and who also happened to lead these people and whom he had to absolutely convince to send them away for everyone’s sake. No pressure at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long comment is long, but I believe I should still add a word or two about how Kíli acts and his relationships to Bilbo and Fíli.  
> Kíli got Issues, with capital I. He grew up on the streets all on his own and remembers only someone telling him to `be a good boy´. He thinks it was his mother and, since it’s the only thing he has, he clinked to it through hunger, cold and a lot of ugly things done to him. That’s why he helped Bilbo without expecting anything in return and thought Bilbo in turn expected sexual favours for his own. Took an awful long time until they had it all hashed out (and Kíli actually believed Bilbo) and, once they had moved past that, Bilbo happily spend a good portion of his inheritance to make sure Kíli was legally his. Of course that didn’t just magically make everything alright, but it was a good start. As they both had (and have) abandonment and trust issues, they are in general a whole lot more affectionate and touchy with each other than `normal´ for father and son during those times. That’s also why he takes so well to the Ereborians. Everything about them is different from what he knows and to him different is great, because the `civilised world´ made neither him nor Bilbo happy and was harder for him to navigate.  
> It should also be noted that this Kíli is ... let’s call it mentally underdeveloped. He’s not stupid or demented or anything like that, it’s just that his mind is stuck on childish thought patterns (as in “the developmental state of a child”, not silly, though that’s not exclusive).  
> His special attachment to Fíli is easily explained, too. You see, I didn’t say it then, but when Bilbo was separated from the others after the fireflies, Azog made comments about him likely being dead and Kíli panicked and tried to find him. Kíli got himself lost on some unstable rock and then Fíli made his entrance with his shiny hair and easy smile as if right out of a story and offered to help. Kíli got a severe case of puppy crush/hero worship going on and Fíli just thinks Kíli is cute and finally he has someone his own age (give or take a few thousand years) to match his energy and mischief. Oh, he got all the princely training and can be quite serious. He just has no reason to show it. Anyway. That between them is all pretty PG-rated. Might change over time, but not within this story.  
> And, no, Kíli is not some lost prince of Erebor. I'll admit the thought crossed my mind, but he's not.
> 
> Now about what I did with Frerin. In “Atlantis” Milo states early that Plato was referring to the Journal of the Sheppard and an ancient Nordic text contained the location of the book in Iceland. Then there was that conversation between Kida and her father about that she would have killed foreigners no 1000 years ago. I drew the conclusion that there must have been at least another entrance into Atlantis and someone hostile used it. I figured the Vikings are as good a candidate as any. And they were known for doing raids, so Frerin, Vikings and drama happened and I have to say I feel kinda bad for it.  
> Also, I fear it’s not entirely clear here, but Thorin actually upholds a strict “no strangers in Erebor” policy, but when he thinks of intruders, he thinks of people like Azog. Bilbo being pretty much the exact opposite caught him completely off guard and he is smitten (though not on first sight, because that hadn’t been pretty at all) and not thinking straight half the time. When Bilbo isn’t around Dwalin is actually teasing him about that extensively and so is Dís. Not Fíli, though, because Fíli’s mind is completely occupied with Kíli, but the lads will join the teasing later.
> 
> Also, Thorin’s topic change (the invitation to dinner) seems sudden, but consider what he just learned in this and the previous chapter. He is needs some time to brood over all that and tell Dís about the journal and grieve. With all that stuff going through his mind he couldn’t think of a better way to get what he needed and wanted, namely some time alone and more time with Bilbo, in that order. I should have just done a chapter from his point of view, but I couldn’t get a good grip on it. Pity that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as dinners with the family of your intended went, Bilbo thought it was going rather well, except no one was anyone's intended and he doubted the possibility of declaring war on anyone was usually the topic during such meetings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for past nearly drowning through third party and suicidal thoughts, but only briefly mentioned.
> 
> Also, let me emphasise again that Kíli is NOT from Erebor, neither were his parents or grandparents. He's a "normal" human orphan and street kid, who got lucky and ended up in Bilbo's care. If there is still anything unclear about that or anything else, say the word. I'll happily answer every question.

* * *

 

Dís was very much like her brother and not just in looks, though she seemed a lot more enthusiastic about everything, or at least more expressive. She didn’t mention the journal itself, but her hug spoke volumes in its intensity and length and there was _so much_ bare skin Bilbo didn’t know where to safely look or place his hands, though he tried to settle for the fabric covered part between her shoulders. Kíli thought his predicament hilarious, Fíli and Thorin seemed to agree and the woman was unwilling to let go until the burly guard, Dwalin, cracked a joke about Bilbo suffocating in the lady’s bosom. The linguist thought it less a joke than a real and very scary possibility, but Dís finally let him go and started a friendly quarrel with the guard.

 

“She likes you.”

 

“Then I better make sure she never finds reason to dislike me.”

 

The King snorted amused and pulled him down to sit on his left. The smaller hadn’t actually intended to be funny and, even if, he wouldn’t have thought the other would understand. Humour was something he knew got easily lost in translation.

 

“Eat, friend. It is better than it looks.”

 

“You said so before and I still find it hard to believe.”

 

Bilbo wasn’t used to sit on large cushions with the plates on the ground, but this was more comfortable than he would have imagined and better for laying half over each other during dinner, as so unashamedly displayed by Fíli and Kíli and Bilbo envied them for it, but then concentrated back on Thorin and the strange looking meal.

 

He had always thought insects were mostly made of fluids, at least those he had squished had been, but this was clearly some form of meat, except greenish, though not in a spoiled kind of way and it actually didn’t taste too bad; unusual, certainly, but not bad. The same could be said about the assorted sea food on offer. The small man was rather sure he could recognise fishes and craps, seaweed and a giant slug. He missed bread and vegetables, but before he could ask about that he remembered that in the past two days he had seen much, but no fields or even patches large enough to grow anything worth the effort, but trees grew on and between the ruins and the fruits were plenty, tasty and in considerable great variety for an underground city.

 

Truly, this was paradise and the thought to leave and never return was painful almost on a physical level, but in order to preserve all this, the short man was confident he could do it if certain conditions were met.

 

“You will watch out for my boy, won’t you?”

 

“Does that mean you changed your mind about staying?”

 

“No, but he will be miserable either way. If you can promise me that he will have a place among your people, I’d much rather have my Kíli miserable _here_ , where he has at least a chance to be happy and free, than back where we come from. Can you?”

 

Thorin gave him a long, measuring look, then turned his eyes to the oblivious boys.

 

“You are a good man, Bilbo Baggins, and a great father” he said and took the other’s hand in his. Any other time the linguist would have marvelled at the size difference between their hands and then instantly panicked how this gesture could be perceived, but right now his mind was stuck on informing him that he was holding hands, with Thorin, repeatedly, and he really really needed to grow up and start behaving his age soon or his hormones would no doubt get them killed sooner than Azog’s short temper.

 

“I can. I would take him in as my own if my sister doesn’t beat me to it, or my sister’s son, for that matter, and I would offer the same to you.”

 

“I ... oh, dear, I’d love to, really, but I can’t. I told you why.”

 

“We aren’t many, but still outnumber ...”

 

“It is not numbers that matter here, Thorin. You’d all die and that’s not worth it.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Bilbo nodded and tried to explain fire weapons and explosives, always casting paranoid looks around to make sure they weren’t overheard. That Thorin’s people could hunt and kill the beasts in the caves was impressive, but that meant nothing against the guns and grenades and whatever else Smaug might have up his sleeve. He would have like to ask why, after the bad experience with his brother, Thorin had even let them this deep into the city in the first place, but that wouldn’t change a thing about their current dilemma, never mind that he seriously doubted Smaug even believed him the story about the sacred month anyway.

 

The other listened attentively and for a horrible moment the linguist thought Thorin would brush his concerns aside and insist they could do this, but he didn’t. Maybe it crossed his mind, but just in that moment the little girl from earlier ran past them, one of her fathers chasing her hopefully right into the arms of the other else dinner would have to be interrupted for a merry chase no amount of creativity could ever explain away in case Smaug really had someone spy one them, which he surely had.

 

The king watched them for a while, then his shoulders sacked and he agreed that open conflict with the surface dwellers was not a good idea at all. Every loss was one too many and not just because there were so few of them left.

 

“What do you suggest?”

 

Needless to say Thorin didn’t like Bilbo’ plan – as much as `lead them away and block the way back where it’s most convenient´ could be called a plan – and mentioned he might yet have another idea, but didn’t want to go into specifics over dinner, so for now they turned to less gloomy topics.

 

Still, even the merriest feast had to end sooner or later with many falling asleep at the table or close by and once again Thorin requested the smaller to join him for a walk. In itself that wasn’t anything new, except that this time Thorin had a specific goal in mind, namely what must have been a court yard of the old city ... with a big something that resembled a fish and seemed of the same making as the Leviathan. Not that Bilbo had paid much attention to anything then except getting Kíli and himself out of there alive back then, but there was a notable similarity in the design.

 

“What in da Vinci’s name is that?”

 

“Fíli found several of them some years ago. Through there in a big room at the end of a corridor” Thorin said, pointing at a seemingly harmless passage Bilbo committed to memory just in case. One never knew when giant mechanical fish could come in handy. “The pictures on the walls showed people flying through the air on these, but we could never figure out how. You can read our runes. ”

 

“Well, er, kind of. I’d need my notes and ... well, I can try in any case. Just don’t expect miracles.”

 

“I have every confidence in your skills, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“Just Bilbo, please. I believe we are well past the need for formality.”

 

“Formality?”

 

“Yes, er ... ah, you don’t have ... okay, well, you see, we ... you know what, forget about it. Just call me Bilbo” the smaller sighed. He didn’t have the nerves for long winding explanations right now. He had to think and fast. The instructions on the flying machine – he would absolutely not think about the implications of that – were clear enough, but if he told that to Thorin and there really were more of them, the other might think it a good idea to attack Smaug after all, which it definitely wasn’t. On the other hand was it part of their lost culture and Bilbo would love to give it back to them ...

 

“I, er, it seems to involve your crystal things, as a power source, and I believe you have to touch this field in the process. Then something about turning, but without my notes I can’t make heads or tails from the rest. Sorry.”

 

There, that was good. With the Hobbit’s ... with _Frerin’s_ Journal and this they should figure it out in time and he could just leave them his notes, too. That was safer than taking them along, even if they couldn’t read them either, but Kíli could and, oh, that thought hurt.

 

Thorin’s face dropped for a moment, but then he caught himself again and nodded solemnly.

 

“Would you try translating something else for me?”

 

“Oh, well, I can try. I mean, maybe I’m better at something that doesn’t include bringing a machine back to ... Thorin? Just what are you doing?”

 

“It’s rather difficult to swim in this. You can swim, can’t you?”

 

Bilbo was so distracted he missed to answer. So much skin, so much _tanned_ skin spanning over broad shoulders and flexing muscles, adorned with scars and the glowing tattoos and hair! By Socrates and Galileo, thank the heavens the other was wearing under-things. It wasn’t much fabric, hardly more than a loin cloth, but it was all that separated the smaller from fainting or dying of blood loss. He already felt light headed and cold water – oh, please, let the water be cold – sounded like a mighty good idea all of the sudden; better in any case than being caught starring.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Can you swim?”

 

“Sure, yes, certainly. I mean, good enough not to drown, I guess.”

 

Cold water, Bilbo reminded himself while trying to look anywhere but the mostly naked man in front of him.

 

“If you keep wearing so many layers, you _will_ drown. I would prefer not having to explain that to Kíli.”

 

Kíli. Kíli, who was the reason for pretty much everything Bilbo had done in the past years, who was right now sleeping peacefully in a tangled puppy pile with Fíli and saw nothing wrong with that. Kíli, who would be heartbroken tomorrow and likely neither forgive Bilbo nor understand that he was doing it for his sake and, yes, Bilbo was aware he would be doing the same thing his parents had done, but Kíli was an adult, even if partly unwilling, partly unable to act the way. He would be left in a good place where people would actually appreciate and care for him and Bilbo most certainly wasn’t doing it to go frolicking around the world. No. The linguist was doing it to protect Erebor and Kíli from a world that would see them destroyed and he would likely wither away from loneliness within a few years if he held out that long.

 

All of the sudden it was a lot easier to not salivate over Thorin almost naked and by now glistering wet in the waning light and the tropical landscape in the background. It wasn’t as if he had ever stood a chance either way. The linguist knew he wasn’t ugly, but cute in a chubby, fuzzy kind of way wasn’t exactly the best recipe to get laid. If he had a city filled with living Greek marble statues (mostly. He had also seen some `ordinary´ people and one or two easily two times Bilbo’s own width, but even they pulled it off looking unfairly good) to choose from, the linguist certainly wouldn’t choose himself either, never mind that he couldn’t actually know if Thorin was interested in men like that and, sweet mother of science, how come that was actually a legitimate worry now?

 

“Well then, lead the way” he sighed and tried not to visible flinch as he joined the larger man. The water was warm (damn!) and Bilbo hadn’t lied when he said he could swim; it just wasn’t exactly his favourite pastime, not to say he greatly disliked it due to his cousins’ strong disagreement to him being alive before their parents had made them understand that their source of income had to stay alive for said income to be received. There had been times he had been sorry the lesson got stuck so fast, though not fast enough for him to be comfortable with any body of water larger or deeper than an average bathtub.

 

“I don’t wish to doubt your words, but are you certain you can swim?” Thorin asked and there was no judgement in his eyes, neither about the linguist’s apparent lack of skill nor appearance in general, only honest worry. For a moment then the smaller entertained the thought that maybe he was an exotic beauty to these people, pale and plumb and short that he was, but then banned that train of thought into the `not helping´ corner of his mind that was starting to become rather crowded.

 

“Does doggy paddling count?”

 

Thorin frowned deeply, then understanding dawned on his features.

 

“Dive. I meant to say we need to dive.”

 

“Oh. Well then. I ... I can try? Is it far?”

 

Nodding the other frowned again, longer this time as he thought on the matter. For an untrained swimmer it was too far to dive and, no matter how much he had hoped to gain back even the tiniest bit of his people’s history and culture, he would not risk Bilbo so.

 

“Then hold your breath and hold on to me. There is an air pocked at our destination.”

 

“No offence, but are _you_ sure you can do that?” the smaller asked, swallowing the other reason for his doubts. Touching Thorin in their current state of undressed already seemed like an unwise course of action, but doing so while slippery wet with high chances of ending up pressed close and clinking on for dear life ... there was only so much he could do against desires he was entirely too old and settled in his ways to admit possessing, not to mention acting on.

 

Kíli. He had to think about Kíli and a future alone and sad with only the thought that he had done right by his son for comfort.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Some historical/cultural background information about the seating of people at a table or comparable situations.

The right arm is the sword arm and the left the shield arm, as a warrior would hold the sword right and the shield left (generalised from medieval times were being left handed was associated with the Devil. I will not go into detail about that). Consequently it is easier to push the person on your left behind you into safety and kill the person on your right and you have to trust the one on the left not to attack you and the one on the right to guard you. This probably had also something to do with why the second in command is also the right hand man.

To be honest, I haven’t looked any of it up, but I’m pretty sure it’s rather close to the truth. It makes sense to me either way. Let me illustrate why with a little story.

 

It’s open court day and Thorin sits on his throne with Balin on his right, reading out the agenda of the meeting and offering his knowledge of dwarfish law. Dwalin stands behind them at Thorin’s left hand and does what he can do best: glare everything into submission. The spot behind Thorin’s left shoulder is empty since Fíli is currently trying to sleep through a lesson in proper etiquette with Dori and Kíli had been suspiciously well behaved and had been allowed to go on a hunting trip in Mirkwood. Bilbo next to Thorin on his left and gives his input or asks something, but mostly just tries (and fails) to understand Dwarrows and bemoans the loss of elevenses. From the shadows Nori keeps watching all their backs and delegates the tasks of his minions.

A few hours after high noon an ambassador of the Iron Hills arrives and open court is delayed. He is invited to talk over matters during dinner, at which he is placed on Thorin’s right side. That leads to the idiot ambassador puffing up like a dragon with a brand new horde and being quite satisfied with the honour. Dwalin again stands behind Thorin and glowers over the king’s right shoulder and is not impressed at all with the idiot ambassador, but all things considered quite happy, because the idiot ambassador is in perfect position to lose his head by either Orcrist or Grasper and Keeper. Bilbo on Thorin’s left is not so happy, because Thorin had explained him earlier why it is so important he always stays on the king’s left side and he can defend himself quite fine, thank you very much. As Fíli had managed to sneak out of the mountain to join Kíli on his hunting trip Balin sits on Bilbo’s left is also quite happy, because he can commend on everything to Bilbo and offer advice where needed without having to deal with Thorin’s moods later on or being heard by the ambassador. Nori is for once not lurking in the shadows, because he following Fíli to make sure the lads don’t get themselves killed, but he has left his most able minions with instructions to make sure the idiot ambassador can’t hope to even turn to attack Thorin without losing limb or life and to dig up as much information about the guy as they can.

A few days later the ambassador is still in Erebor, but Thorin can’t be bothered, because a missive from Thranduil arrives, requesting (read: demanding) his presence in his palace as some dwarflings had been caught trespassing a sacred grove. Balin helpfully translates that Thranduil has caught Fíli and Kíli and doesn’t want to miss the chance to trade subtle and not so subtle insults. The Dwarf King doesn’t like it at all, as he has to sit on Thranduil’s right, which makes him feel very exposed and accordingly cranky. On his right, in perfect position to press the Dwarf back into his chair should he take offence on anything (which happens every five minutes), Bilbo is quite smug about the whole thing (he sees it as payback) and only refrains from kicking the glowering Dwalin on his own right side, because he knows it will hurt his own poor feet more than the Dwarf’s shin. Elbows in the rips are fair game, however. On Thranduil’s left Legolas just rolls his eyes and wonders what could be the worst that could happen if he were to sneak out and join Fíli and Kíli in gallivanting through the forest, because of course there isn’t any sacred grove.

On the way back to Dale (because they might as well pay King Bard an official visit while they are at it) the group gets ambushed by thieves/assassins. Dwalin, as always literally right behind Thorin, pulls the Dwarf King back and out of the way of a flying knife and kills the closest attacker. Thorin does the same with Bilbo, who had been walking on Thorin’s left, as the Darf had insisted he always do and the Hobbit had been too tired to argue and the three fight back to back until Fíli, Kíli, Nori and Legolas come barging in and most of the attackers are either dead or subdued for interrogation.

The tale ends pretty much as it began, with Thorin on the Throne, passing judgement over the would-be assassins and the ambassador, who of course had been behind the whole plot, with Balin on his right advising on which punishment would satisfy both the thirst for retaliation and the dwarfish laws, with Dwalin glowering over Thorin’s right shoulder. On Thorin’s left side sits Fíli, for once enjoying court day, and Kíli glowers over Fíli’s left shoulder, since he is left handed and isn’t that great that they can protect each other at the same time? Meanwhile Nori is once again lurking in the shadows and Bilbo has had enough of confounded Dwarrows and rather tends to his terrace garden and looks forward to the next time they all visit the Shire, where the Sackville-Bagginses are the worst that can happen and the seating is determined by a thousand little details that have absolutely nothing to do with protecting each other from harm.

 

You know, that would actually make quite a decent story on its own, but I’m too busy for that. Maybe one day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long comment is still long, but I hope you enjoyed the little excurse and the chapter.
> 
> I admit, I completely made up the whole food and hunting the giant centipedes thing, but, hey, my stories, my odd looking food XD
> 
> Family or last names, whatever you want to call it, are a modern invention, relatively speaking. For a long time first names were more than enough, then, as population and travelling increased, the city of origin, name of the father or profession were added, or titles earned for deeds (e.g. Oakenshield) and from them our family names developed. Considering when Atlantis was lost and how Kida spoke about their people dying out, I believe it’s safe to assume they don’t have last names down there and never heard about it either. Not sure how they handled that in the movie, but that's how it is here.  
> Fun fact: at least in Europe streets were named in a similar way. First settlements were small enough you didn’t need names, later they were named for what sort of business dominated there.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a rule that things could always get worse and of course he didn't just have to deal with greed, no, it had to be _calculated_ greed.

* * *

 

Bilbo had only very little time to congratulate himself for not doing anything embarrassing while clinking to the well toned, warm body of Thorin (for which he deserved a medal, by the way), because the water had taken all his uncomfortable thoughts away and left him mostly with holding on for dear life and the skin-to-skin contact.

 

The king had led him – he was a linguist, god damn it, he should know a better fitting verb than that for the awkward period of almost drowning and diving – to an underwater cave with a large air pocket and even larger mural half over half under water. It mostly consisted of pictures, which made the texts easier to translate, but the content not any easier to stomach.

 

They were so very fucked, it evaded all words, linguist or not.

 

“The crystal, what is it to your people?”

 

“That is difficult to word. It is Arkenstone, Heart of Mahâl. My brother used to call it Heart of Erebor. Mahâl, our Maker, gave it to us in ancient times to give life and light. We all carry a splitter to remind us of our bond with Mahâl and our ancestors. It has healing powers if used right, though we don’t use the gift lightly.”

 

Bilbo thought of a deep fall, horrible pain and a bright light easing it away and shuddered. He had already assumed as much, but something in Thorin’s voice told him that chances were high he had actually been dying when they first met. Bilbo didn’t like to think of it.

 

“What is it made of?”

 

“I ... don’t actually know. These are solid, but the Arkenstone ... the one time I saw it, it seemed like a ball of light, brighter than the sun, but not harmful for the eyes” the larger explained and gave Bilbo his pendant. The linguist couldn’t say more about it than that it glowed prettily, had a smooth surface and would definitely fit into the slot he had seen on the flying machine. It was also warm to touch, but that could just as well be because it always rested against Thorin’s chest (bad mind. Not going there, no matter how crowded the `not helpful´ corner was getting). Bofur would certainly know more, but Bilbo was suddenly not so sure anymore on whose side the geologist or anyone else for that matter was. He only knew that there would be two sides: Smaug, Azog and their mercenaries against Thorin, his people and Bilbo.

 

Oh, gods, and Kíli and Fíli in the middle of it, no doubt on their side, but certainly getting into danger over their faithful devotion to their uncle and father figure respectively.

 

“What does it say?”

 

“The mural? Basically what you just told me, that the Arkenstone is the giver of light and life and protects Erebor and its people. But it also says that it’s ... somehow sentient. I can’t really make sense of it.”

 

“My father told me once that in times of need the Arkenstone chooses one of us to guide it. He said that his father, my grandfather, became greedy and used it against other nations, but the Arkenstone would not be forced and turned against us. I remember it took our mother and a great light and then we were down here. Mother never returned and the Arkenstone vanished. Dís wasn’t more than a helpless bundle in my arms then, though she will deny having ever been small and helpless” Thorin added with a wary smirk and took the pendant back.

 

“After meeting her I know better than to challenge that.”

 

It was a pity they couldn’t just stay down here, but eventually they had to go back and the trip would have made for such a nice parting memory if only they wouldn’t have surfaced to the barrel of Smaug’s gun.

 

“You couldn’t have waited another ten minutes, could you?”

 

“I’m not a very patient man, Mister Baggins.”

 

“Oh, patient enough, obviously. Just let me see if I got it right” Bilbo sassed, keeping himself between Smaug and Thorin, mostly to keep Thorin from doing anything stupid. Also, he had no idea where that backbone had come from so suddenly, but he would wager it had something to do with generally too much too fast, never mind the frustration about all the restless planning and thinking of the last days turning out to have been in vain all of the sudden.

 

“You found the journal, saw a picture of a big shiny, thought it a gem stone and decided you wanted it. You tore the page from the journal – congratulations, by the way. I almost didn’t notice – and waited how long until that blasted old man found someone to guilt into translating it? Ten years?”

 

“I do not care for your attitude, Baggins.”

 

“Good, because I don’t care for a gun in my face. Now could I at least get dressed before you drag us off or ... oh, _great_! Now I’ll have to walk around like a drowned cat. Thanks a lot. That will make me _so_ much more cooperative.”

 

A shot rang through the air and Bilbo winced, but it was Thorin who hissed in pain and held his arm. It was just a graze, hardly even bleeding, but brought the linguist down from his trip very quickly.

 

“Right. Fantastic. That was entirely unnecessary” he snapped nonetheless and ripped his now wet shirt in stripes to bind the wound. It wasn’t very effective and not necessary either, but the linguist felt better for doing it and received Thorin’s toga in return. It was blessedly dry and smelled like the other man, which calmed and excited Bilbo to equal parts.

 

All this would be a lot easier if he could at least pretend to fancy women, or if Thorin were a woman or at least not so very much Bilbo’s type. He wouldn’t be picky about it as long as he could stop being so hopelessly attracted for five minutes, though if he was honest, he was starting to like him for more than just his body. Thorin was an entirely decent and caring man and a good leader and it was entirely unfair.

 

“I’ll assume you already have our lads. You are aware we will cease being cooperative if either comes to harm, yes?” he noted and gave Bofur an angry glare. The geologist was the only one looking up long enough to catch his eyes and at least he had the decency to seem ashamed in earnest.

 

“I’m sure we will come to an agreement. Now this way, Mister Baggins, your majesty.”

 

Thorin growled, but let them be herded to the palace, ordering everyone they met to stand down, warn the others and keep the children safe and away. Of course he did it in their own tongue and the amount of foreign words made Azog in special rather nervous, so Bilbo gave them a very boiled down translation that just so sufficed to prevent violence, for now.

 

In the throne room more of Smaug’s henchmen held the royal family captive. Dwalin was down, a bleeding wound in his shoulder, likely from a bullet. It didn’t seem too serious, all things considered, and he had obviously taken down two of Smaug’s goons in the process. Also, fretting over him kept Dís’ outward agressions to what Bilbo believed to be colourful swearing. Fíli and Kíli were of course clinking to each other, but only hidden behind their straight backs where they stood shoulder to shoulder, but otherwise stone faced over Dís and Dwalin ... but why was Kíli was wearing a blue toga now?

 

On second thought, no. Not important now, but he was very proud of how the lad dealt with the situation. Straight posture, straight face, very professional, or so Bilbo though. He didn’t know what counted as professional in a situation as this, but he didn’t feel as if he acted very professional himself and, since he was doing quite the opposite from what Kíli did, his son had to be professional.

 

Damn it, he needed a tea, or something stronger. And it may be an odd throne, but did Smaug have to provoke everyone by making himself at home there? Bless the powers that be nobody raised to that bait, but it was still entirely unnecessary.

 

“Well then. Do your job, Mister Baggins.”

 

“Yes, yes. Though what you hope to learn from a child’s diary is beyond me” Bilbo grumbled purposefully loud enough to be heard and hoped that Thorin and his family did not take too much offence. He was fishing for everything that might save their lives here and explaining that would defeat the purpose of fooling Smaug. Even with all his other planning in vain, at least withholding information would now pay off.

 

“What?!”

 

“Why, yes, did I not mention it before? Turns out the journal was written by a young lad, which actually explains a lot. I have wondered many times about the wording. Ah, there we have it. `The Heart of Erebor lies in a father’s and brother’s eyes´. Nothing more.”

 

“Do you think me an idiot?!”

 

“I think you a cruel, greedy man without any scruples, but (sadly) not an idiot. That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve been following the instructions of a child, which is unexpected and really could have gotten us killed. If you ask me, the Heart of Erebor is a metaphor. The lad probably had bright eyed relatives and was well loved by them. Adorable and a great treasure indeed for those with the mind for it, but you are obviously the kind of person to prefer monetary values. Well, I saw gold lying around here; how about you take what you can carry and just leave? You get rich, no one gets hurt, everyone wins. For all we know this whole journal could be made up.”

 

Bilbo was not confident, but hopeful that he might be able to convince Smaug that the Arkenstone didn’t exist, only that his last comment had obviously been too much for Thorin.

 

“Are you calling my brother a liar?!” he thundered and the linguist groaned and covered his eyes.

 

“I’m trying to save your people, you fool! Thank you for thwarting my efforts.”

 

“It was a fine attempt, I’ll give you that” Smaug growled angry, though visibly intrigued by this new information. “So your brother wrote this journal.”

 

Thorin affirmed that with all the pride of an elder brother. It was justified, all things considered. If he wouldn’t have been indirectly told as much, Bilbo would have never noticed it had been written by a child, but none of that was helping right now.

 

“Then where is he?”

 

“Dead” the linguist gritted out and allowed himself to be for a single short moment to be glad about that. At least Smaug couldn’t use Frerin against them as well and out loud he added for good measure that if the Arkenstone even existed, no one alive knew where it was anyway.

 

“Oh, it exists. Of that I have no doubt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally we come to the "interesting" parts.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but Bilbo's stress levels are sky rocking and he's really trying to somehow save the situation.
> 
> What do you think?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bilbo had enough, Bilbo had enough and he would let that be known, consequences be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bilbo's stress level reach critical levels. It's not half as explosive as I wanted it to be, but I figured I should still mention it.

* * *

 

Whoever had thought it a good idea to hide the Arkenstone in a cave under the palace with the entrance right in the courtyard deserved a medal for the most stupid idea ever, second only to joining this stupid quest in the first place, because if Thorin hadn’t blurred out that his brother had written the journal, it would have admittedly been quite hard to find.

 

Well, gain some, lose some, as the saying went and Bilbo wouldn’t even consider asking how Frerin had known where the Arkenstone had been hidden while Thorin had obviously not. Nope, not his problem. He was busy enough trying not to panic over Kíli and Thorin being still up there with Azog and himself and Fíli down here with Smaug and two of his goons. At least it hadn’t been his idea to leave their resident hotheads unsupervised, but that didn’t lessen the number of possibilities how this particular combination could go wrong. They were endless and endlessly horrifying and then there was of course the matter of accidentally pressing a button disguised as a stone and gaining one ball of light floating far over a pond that in turn was deep enough to justify as `bottomless´.

 

It wouldn’t be so bad if Smaug wouldn’t expect _Bilbo_ to do something about, right now, with no time at all to think.

 

“And what, pray tell, do you suggest I _could_ do? The way I see it we can’t possible reach it from here or the walls and, even if we could, I highly doubt we could get it out of here for you to sell it and who would want a giant flashlight anyway? How about we just go back to my earlier suggestion and you grab all the gold you can carry and you make your cut from that? It’s not as if anyone would have believed us we found Erebor either way.”

 

“It was never about the money or fame, Baggins.”

 

Bilbo wasn’t a people person or more than average at math, but he was pessimistic enough that he could make the equalization of what a man like Smaug could want with the Arkenstone if it wasn’t wealth or fame. He wanted power and would in time no doubt find out about the immortality part as well and the linguist could see it unfolding before his inner eye in all its horrors.

 

He knew from experience that there was always a worse, but a man like Smaug (and Azog, couldn’t forget Azog, and simply hoping the two men would soon realise how incompatible they were and kill each other would be naive to the power of ten) with something as potentially dangerous as the Arkenstone ...

And to think a few months ago he would have laughed at anyone hinting Erebor might actually exist and now he didn’t even hesitate to believe that a floating light was a semi-sentient weapon with the power to destroy everything.

 

This had to be the bottom of the metaphorical pit, right? Or at least pretty close to it.

 

It wasn’t, of course, because Smaug had to kick a pebble into the pond, wake up the deity, which decided Fíli would make an excellent host and turned him into a kind of living, liquid crystal person that shouldn’t be touched. It was a very impressive display and Bilbo was absolutely sure he should at least be allowed to faint now, but he didn’t. No, he fought off the darkness and kept doing what he could to make sure everyone made it out alive.

 

An aching jaw and exploded bridge (the only one leading off this island and wasn’t that just impractical?) later Bilbo was hanging from Thorin’s hands that were still big and strong, only they seemed less nice now that they were wrapped around his neck. Yes, the king had justified reasons to be angry – his heir, only nephew, son of his heart had been turned into a sentient crystal/energy thing and kidnapped/stolen and his guard/best friend had been shot and then there was the potential threat that Smaug or others like him would return and take even more from him and his people, never mind the possibility that they all would starve beforehand – but Bilbo was of the opinion that blaming him for all that just because he was at hand and small and not exactly able to defend himself, was just plain rude. He hoped Kíli’s bite hurt like Hell.

 

“Of course, why not make the linguist the punching bag. He’s too nice and small to put up a fight and nobody cares if we rough him up a bit or a bit more. Seriously, why don’t you just throw me down a cliff or some such? Not very creative, but at least it would be a new experience, because everything else I’ve had before and I tell you know you are neither creative nor impressive!”

 

“You knew this would happen! Traitor! I should have never taken pity on you!”

 

And that was the moment the linguist reached a level of fed up that could only be called critical.

 

“Of course I knew, you big ox!” he snapped, towering over the other man for all that he was smaller and repeatedly poked a firm chest. It most likely hurt Bilbo’s finger more than Thorin, but the linguist was angry enough to not notice. “I knew and I _warned_ you. From the start I told you again and again to get them away from your people, but no, mister tall and broody knew better. _You_ choose not to take me serious. This is _your_ damn fault, not mine, and don’t you dare blaming me for leading them here. I was convinced this place doesn’t existed and, even if, that the most intelligent life form we would find would be a sponge or moss. If I’d known there were people (independent of the obviously lacking intelligence), never mind a weapon of mass destruction, I would have burned the damn journal at the first chance! Now, if you are quite done placing blame where it doesn’t belong, I have the heir of a lost kingdom to safe. Feel free to join me whenever you’ve grown up.”

 

“Papa, are we going to safe Fíli?”

 

“Lad” the fuzzy short man said with a deep breath to keep himself from also snapping at his son. “I always knew I’d have to learn to say `no´ to you at one point and I fear that is now. _We_ are most certainly not going to safe anyone. _I_ will go; you will stay here, nice and safe, where I don’t have to worry about you as well.”

 

“No.”

 

Bilbo blinked surprised, looked around as if searching for someone jumping out behind a bush shouting `surprise´ or at least back him up, but nothing of the sort happened.

 

“No?”

 

“Fíli is my best friend and you’re my father. That’s two good reasons to go. I won’t let you do this alone.”

 

Hardly three days and the lad spoke of a best friend (probably because he had no other word for it or no other friends to speak of, which was sadly the truth on both accounts) and Bilbo couldn’t even complain about it, because it had taken him all but a second to develop an absolutely hopeless crush on an ancient king that he couldn’t even shake off when said man turned out to be an ungrateful, abusive arse.

 

“And you realise this is no game and there is a real possibility one or both of us will get seriously hurt or worse?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh. Well, then there is nothing else to say about it, I guess. Come along, my lad. I’m sure you will like what I have in mind. It’s one of my most insane ideas to date, I fear.”

 

He went ahead, Kíli gleefully on his heels and not a moment later Bofur, too, followed, as did Ori, Nori, Dori and Gloin. Oin would stay behind to make sure Dwalin received proper treatment as he didn’t know (yet) about the healing crystals.

 

“Ye know we never meant for any of this ta happen, don’t ye?”

 

The linguist looked at Bofur over his shoulder. In the background he could see quite a few of the natives also following them, including Thorin after he had received a punch from his sister that must have rattled the man’s teeth. The king didn’t look at him, but Bofur did and seemed apologetic and honestly disturbed by what had just transpired.

 

“Did you have a choice, to join I mean, at any one point?”

 

“Depends how ye define `choice´. Let’s say circumstances made `generous payment no matter the outcome´ worth possibly death on a mad quest and there was free food and ale involved. Should have known it was too good to be true.”

 

“That bad?”

 

“Hospital bills. Prove of virgin conception and they kept multiplying like bunnies.”

 

“Oh. I’m sorry I doubted you then. I’d offer help, but ...”

 

“We’re all in it for the money one way or the other” Bofur laughed forced. “I know. Don’t worry, Bilbo. We had this kind of talk before, remember? At least ye tried ta do the right thing despite it all. Takes; more courage than any of us had, that’s for sure.”

 

“I’m still sorry. There is a difference between being careful and being paranoid and I fear I’m leaning more towards the later lately. Talking about fears, I hope none of you have a fear of highs.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take the flying fish machines, catch up to the bad guys, rescue Fíli and get out again. Sounded like a good and simple plan, right? To bad the devil was in the detail.

* * *

 

In hindsight had it indeed been one of Bilbo’s most insane ideas if not the worst to date.

 

In theory it hadn’t sounded so bad, actually. Take the flying fish machines, catch up to Smaug and Azog and their goons, grab Fíli and get out again. Granted, it wasn’t a very detailed plan, but the simpler the easier to execute, right?

 

Wrong, because the execution was were the insane part came in. Navigating the machines was easy, so was finding the bad guys. Their planes and the hot-air-balloon were a surprise, so was that the flying fishes could shoot back.

 

That Smaug and Azog tried to kill each other was a welcome turn of events and completely expected, though Bilbo had to fight off sympathy for the Commander about falling from great highs onto stone. It wasn’t as if he had much time to ponder that as he held on for dear life while Azog turned into an odd glowing crystal golem thing. Then the air-balloon exploded (and Azog with it) and woke up the volcano.

 

Such was his life now that the linguist hardly battered an eye at that. No, he just skipped taking a calming breath and went straight over to securing Fíli’s container and the less said about the bumpy ride and escape from molten stone, the better.

 

Well, Thorin’s nearly suicidal rescue of Kíli when the lad fell off his flying fish (apparently volcanoes not only sent hot smoke and lava after you, but tended to shoot whole rocks as well. Who would have thought?) did deserve mentioning, though Bilbo could not find the time then to properly express his appreciation. Lava tended to do that to you. A whole lot of liquid lava, he might mention, and he really could have done without Bofur pointing out that it was likely enough to bury the entire city under it to never be found again and that it would at least be a fast if very painful death.

 

“Well if the end is unavoidable” Bilbo thought to himself and kissed Thorin square on the lips. As kisses went it probably was horrible (he didn’t exactly have much experience to compare it with), but, since they would die any moment now, the linguist was still rather satisfied it, except that they didn’t. Die, that is. It didn’t happen.

 

Dís freed Fíli by tearing the metal case apart with bare hands (why hadn’t they just sent her after the bad guys?), Arkenstone-Fíli floated up over the cloud of no doubt poisonous gas and dust over them, shot arrows of light at giant stone figures that had been conveniently laying around and then started to move and create a protective energy shield around the city. The lava piled up on the other side and over them and after a flash of light cooled down in record time.

 

For a moment all was dark around them and Bilbo was sure they would die slowly by suffocating or turning mad, when runes started to glow on the now solid lava and huge chunks of the dome broke away and took other parts with it, all still safely outside the shield.

 

Truly, that was a fantastic outcome. Smaug and Azog were gone, they had survived the volcano against all odds, but it would be all in vain, because surely Thorin would kill him now. Any moment now the king would turn and probably straggle him to death, but then the shield faded away and falling lava broke away parts of what must have once been the city wall with them, resulting in quite a lot of water rushing out of the city, leaving considerable huge parts of Erebor that had been previously submerged to dry in the not-sun.

 

And Fíli came floating down, completely human again, or at least looking the part. He was not fully conscious and Bilbo too far away to hear every word, but he seemed to discourage everyone from repeating the experience, as it was no fun at all. In any case did his return distract Thorin quite thoroughly and he left the linguist’s side to rush to his nephew.

 

Next to Bilbo Kíli was hopping from foot to foot, but the hand on his elbow held him back while the other young man was smothered to death by his relatives. Only when the worst was over did Bilbo let him go with a fond `off you go´ and turned to Bofur and the others. They at least looked as astonished that they all had survived the last hour as the small man felt.

 

“So it’s over now, yes?”

 

“What ya talking about?”

 

“The volcano, for starters.”

 

“Ah, that. Well, I don’t think we are in any immediate danger anymore” the geologist replied nodding to himself. “Magic and all that. The whole light show would have been unnecessary if it only delayed the nasty bits.”

 

“Yes, good. That’s very good. And no one here has any desire to turn into a megalomaniac monster or greedy ass in the near future?”

 

“Nay, we’re good.”

 

“Fantastic. Then please excuse me” Bilbo said and did what he had been fighting against for the better part of the last day: he fainted.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“That’s not fair” Kíli whined and Bilbo agreed, to equal parts relieved that the stress of the last few days had not changed his son and feeling his stomach make a run for it, because he really didn’t want to have this talk, but since he had the time for it now he certainly would not leave without an explanation. Selfish, yes, but considering he would be alone from now on he deserved the knowledge that at least his son knew why they separated, even is he didn’t understand.

 

“No, it isn’t.”

 

“But if _I_ don’t think it’s fair and _you_ don’t think it’s fair either, why?”

 

“Because Thorin is a stubborn idiot” was the first thing coming to the linguist’s mind, but the danger was over and he had no legitimate reason to be impolite anymore, so he swallowed that instead and tried to explain that, due to miscommunication (and idiocy on a certain king’s part), Bilbo had been publically named traitor and thus had to leave. The original punishment had probably once included to loss of a limb or two, but Kíli didn’t need to know that.

 

“But you saved everyone!”

 

“Actually your dad got everyone into mortal danger trying to save one lad” Bofur threw in, but added hastily that _of course_ they had been glad to help, as this whole mess had been kind of their fault. Not on purpose, but that were details that in the big scheme of things never quite counted. Pavement of the road to Hell and all that.

 

“Then why am _I_ supposed to stay?”

 

Allowed, actually, because Fíli had caused a scene of the likes no one would have expected from him and threatened to leave for the surface and never come back if they wouldn’t allow _his_ Kíli to stay. The wording grated a bit at the linguist. Kíli had been Bilbo’s for so long, to think of another making claims ... ah, but Kíli was of course his own person and didn’t belong to anyone. At least Fíli’s intentions were honourable if maybe not entirely innocent, but the lads were old enough to decide about that on their own as well; especially in a community that didn’t see anything wrong with it.

 

“You are not forced to do anything, my dear lad, but I wish you would _want_ to stay, because you don’t fit into the world above, never did and never will and that is a _good_ thing; very good, in fact. Down here you can run around to your heart’s content, hug whom and when you want and love who you want. You can be happy and free and that is what I want for you.”

 

“But what about _your_ freedom and happiness?”

 

The former would be worth nothing for the distinct lack of the later and Kíli in his life, that much was sure, and it wasn’t fair that he was omitting all the nasty details. Kíli deserved the whole truth and to make his decisions based on that, but Bilbo was selfish like that.

 

“Ah, my dear dear boy. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be right as rain, though I will miss you terribly.”

 

“But you will be all alone!”

 

The lad was far too smart for his own good.

 

“Nay, no worry there. We are also mighty fond of your da and will watch out for him. Right, Nori?” Bofur shouted and the other called back that he didn’t share, but he didn’t protest the general statement, which was ... well, it was nice to know there would be someone who cared, even if one was of questionable sanity and the other of questionable morality. He had lived with less and worse.

 

As if summoned Dori passed by in that moment, fussed over the air growing chilly and dropped blankets over them all and Bilbo realised he could add a fusspot to his list of odd but caring friends, and likely Balin as well.

 

Now that was an odd development. The expedition that he was sure would ruin if not end his life had brought him a new sense of self-worth he was still getting used to and friends. It still wasn’t worth losing Kíli over (never mind this paradise and a certain royal ass), but in itself a valuable if completely unexpected gain.

 

Kíli looked at said odd friends curiously, but still doubtful, then nodded to himself.

 

“I’ll speak with Fíli” he decided and was gone before Bilbo could protest.

 

“A fine lad you got there.”

 

“Right now I wish he were more selfish, but thank you for, you know, everything.”

 

“Nah” Bofur made with a wide grin and an arm around the linguist. “We might have started out as a partnership of convenience, but ye’re a nice fellow, Bilbo. The Queen seems to think so, too.”

 

“Dís is Thorin’s sister.”

 

“Oh, aye, I can see that. Got a strong right hook, the lass. Almost makes me consider going straight.”

 

Bilbo gave the man an odd look and not because he didn’t think choosing whom to be attracted to was entirely possible (Gods knew it would have spared him a lot of heartache and trouble if it were). Then he turned in the pointed direction.

 

Dís was indeed hitting Thorin, repeatedly and with great force and the smug way Fíli and Kíli watched was disconcerting, especially when Thorin visibly gave up and came shuffling over like a beaten dog.

 

“Yep. A fine lad ... but I’m not above admitting I’m a wee bit scared of him right now. You might want to run now. I certainly will.”

 

And gone was Bofur. Bilbo seriously contemplated following him, but he would not run from the king. Nope. The linguist was done running for the foreseeable future, be it from lava or from himself.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one conservation that still needed to be done.

* * *

 

Done shuffling Thorin slumped down next to Bilbo with hunched shoulders, or that was what a normal person would have done. The king somehow made it look majestic, but the linguist could see him turn around words in his head and set on to say something, only to stop at the least possible moment. There was nothing majestic about that and sighing the shorter decided to safe them both from sitting here awkwardly for longer than absolutely necessary.

 

“Thank you for saving Kíli back there.”

 

“It ... was my pleasure.”

 

“I highly doubt that, what’s with the lava and all, and don’t think I didn’t notice you got burned in the process, but anyway. Can I trust you to stick with our agreement?”

 

“I ... what?”

 

It was admittedly rather adorable to watch, except that Bilbo had no mind for that right now.

 

“Kíli. You promised to treat him like your own (kind of). The lad got nothing to do with our quarrel, so can I trust you to stay true to your word? It’s already hard enough to leave him, but so help me if you don’t treat him well, banishment or not, I will come back to kick your ass and this time there will not be any benevolent linguist to safe you.”

 

In reply Thorin grumbled something into his beard and, though he did catch a few words, Bilbo refused to acknowledge them without the proper context.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I said you’re not banished. You’re right. You did what you could to prevent a battle and risked your life to save Fíli. I overacted and I’m sorry. Please consider staying. It would mean a lot to me, all of us.”

 

“Ah ... and I assume that has nothing to do with your sister threatening you with painful things, does it?”

 

At least, Bilbo mused, Thorin had the decency to look ashamed. Oh, they were both at fault for this whole mess, but the linguist refused to feel sorry about it. He hadn’t been the one to almost strangle the other in a temper fit and it certainly wasn’t Thorin who felt uncomfortable pressure every time he swallowed and had to consume one of Oín’s disgusting but effective tonics to prevent swelling. It wasn’t Thorin who had gone from guilty fantasies about big hands to being wary of them while still having guilty fantasies, which was an altogether confusing experience and not helping in the least.

 

“Bilbo, I ...”

 

Hands. Hands on eye level. Bilbo had edged well out of reach before he even finished the thought and Thorin pulled back as if hit.

 

“You fear me.”

 

“You tried to kill me. I mean, I get it, really, you were scared for your nephew and your whole people. I like to think there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my boy, but I tried to help you and you tried to kill me and that ... that is not something a few words can just erase or make better, especially not if you don’t even mean them.”

 

“But I do. I _am_ sorry. I should have listened to you; I should have never laid hand on you. You must hate me for that and you have all right to. You must hate the thought, yet I have to ask you to stay. You ... your skills are needed here. Our language is lost to us, our history is lost to us. My brother ... I gave up on ever having anything to remember him by and then you brought me his journal and it is already so much, but the chance to have his words once more ...”

 

“Kíli.”

 

“What?”

 

“You forgot to mention Kíli. You know I would do anything for him, everyone does, because I love him too much to pretend otherwise and people sure like to remind me” Bilbo sighed bitterly. He would not deny it; he would not feel _bad_ for it. Kíli was all he had; of course he would carve to anything he thought would be best for the lad, but to always be reduced to that?

 

“I know, but it’s not my right to bring him into this, nor would it be fair of me. You are a great father and it honours you that you would make yourself miserable for his sake, but you are more than that and I hoped you would stay because you want to, not because you feel you must.”

 

“Is that why you bring up my talent with languages?”

 

Thorin groaned and rubbed his face in frustration.

 

“It is your right to refuse me forgiveness, but must you mock me? As king, yes, I would ask you to stay for your skills. As his mother’s brother I would see Fíli happy and his happiness is connected to Kíli’s and Kíli in turn would see you happy, as would I, for reasons entirely my own. You are brave and kind, but not happy, not up there, so I hoped ... I hoped for a chance to reconcile with you in time. Your ... actions gave me reason to hope there _is_ a chance. You might call it something else, but the meaning of _namim_ can’t have changed so much no matter time and distance.”

 

There was a lot Bilbo could have said to that. Accusations, mostly, demands to repeat that, even comments about rhetoric and the like, but all his words were gone, including the ones about the unfairness of Thorin talking him into speechlessness. The larger, on the other hand, seemed to have plenty words left and thoughts on what the smaller’s silence meant.

 

“Forgive me. The decision is yours, of course. I only meant to let you know there _is_ a choice. You will always be welcome here if you want, but if you must, you are free to leave.”

 

Thorin got up and turned to leave and Bilbo ... well, Bilbo was still at a loss for words, so he choose the next best thing.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

“So ... staying after all?” Bofur poked and Bilbo gave him a ridiculous wide grin that it made Kíli look shy in comparison.

 

“Right. I’ll just skip asking if ye’re sure. Truth be told, I considered it as well.”

 

“I’m sure you could.”

 

“Nah, we should be fine with that stuff” the geologist replied and glanced at the gold being carted into a large flying machine. He’d have to ask Nori, but surely that would be more than enough for all of them to pay bills and loan sharks, allow Bombur’s kids, Ori and Gloin’s lad a decent education and still have enough left for them all to take a break.

 

That was almost as good as never again having to fear Smaug or Azog at their doors whenever there was an insistent knock.

 

“What will you do now?”

 

“Who knows? Never went on an actual vacation. Might just come back one day.”

 

“That would be nice” Bilbo admitted honestly. “For some odd reason I’ve come to like the lot of you and I’d greatly enjoy seeing you again.”

 

“One day you will regret saying that” sing-songed Nori and sauntered past, no doubt to evaluate the gold.

 

“I already regret it with that one” the linguist deadpanned in good humour and Bofur laughed.

 

“But say, what did ya do with that king of yours?”

 

Bilbo chanced a look back to where he suspected Thorin was still mercilessly being teased by his sister, friend and nephew.

 

“I’m not one to kiss and tell, but I could definitely get used to ... to ...”

 

“To run around and openly stare at that gorgeous ass in public without fear? Yeah, that’s something most of us could get used to.”

 

Bilbo laughed, long and hard. Later he would get a lot of crushing hugs and good natured ribbing and Thorin would grump and all but fold over and around the smaller, nuzzling his hair but keeping his touch light and his hands away from Bilbo’s head. The open display of affection and considerate behaviour would lead to the linguist getting over his fears considerable fast, though that would be after he had walked in on Kíli and Fíli, but before the lads in turn walked in on him and Thorin and before he managed to teach the basics of their written language to those Ereborians gaining first rights to lessons (he did not want to know how they decided that). A few years later (more than one, but less than he had anticipated), Dori, Nori and Ori as well as Bofur, Bombur, Bifur and their whole families would come back to stay with greetings from Gloín and Oín, who rather wanted to stay topside, but that would be then. Now Bilbo had friends to bid (temporary) good bye to and remind them that they had to give Mister Grey a good kicking from him so the old fool would not get the idea it was alright to meddle with the lives of others just because this one time it kind of worked out in their favour. He would also be involved in arguments about important and not so important matters and clashes of tempers, but for now Bilbo Baggins allowed himself to just be truly happy about the way things were.

 

END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _namim_ – Khuzdul (the) kiss
> 
> I admit I'm not completely happy how this turned out. There is not nearly enough interaction between Bilbo and Thorin (though they have only known each other for three days at this point and you only get true love or such nonsense in Disney movies at this point) and I actually wanted to give Bofur a good scare by Bifur getting sneak healed and having a good laugh at his expanse, but I still like it.
> 
> And, yes, this is definitely the end. Done, finito. I had fun writing this and, going by the amount of comments and kudos I received I make a guess and say so had you.
> 
> Thank you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Do I have to mention the I love comments? Well, I do.
> 
> Also, please insert the usual disclaimer about nothing being mine and me making no money with this _here_. The occasional word in khuzdûl is from [The Dwarrow Scholar](http://dwarrowscholar.mymiddleearth.com/)


End file.
